I Learned Your Pulse
by Xx-3044-xX
Summary: Hogwarts is a welcoming place when you've never seen it littered with corpses; when you've never seen the lights fading from a person's eyes, when you've never heard the screams that echoed through the air. Of course, very few of the people there haven't seen it like that. And then the Triwizard Tournament comes back. Hermione, somehow, is entered. And Draco finds it hard to watch.
1. Chapter 1

"Come on, Ronald, if you want to make the portkey."

They were taking a portkey this year instead of the Hogwarts Express; everyone going to Hogwarts from The Burrow were prefects, and were safe to trust with a portkey.

Ron groaned and rolled over in the bed. "Ten minutes."

"In ten minutes, the portkey will be leaving," Hermione informed him, leaning up against his door frame, her mass of bushy hair tied back in a ponytail.

"Ugh. Five minutes?" was the muffled reply.

"Must I get your mother?"

"I'm up, I'm up!"

Hermione grinned as the red-head fell out of bed, but then he looked at her, an she saw his eyes were red and puffy and his pillow case stained. She kneeled, the smile slipping off her face. When she was right next to him, she let her han cradle his cheek. "Ron," she said, "It's okay."

He nodded, but didn't say anything. Hermione leaned back and watched her boyfriend stand up, shaking out his mass of fiery hair like a lion's mane. Truth be told, this was normal behavior for him. He refused to get a haircut, he said, because he wanted his hair to look like Bill's, long and untidy, so he could put it in a ponytail. Whenever Hermione asked why, he'd just said it looked cool. As good a reason as any, she thought, but she liked _his_ hair.

"Oi! Are you up yet?" Harry called from below.

"He's up!" Hermione shouted back, giving Ron one last smile before turning away so he could get changed. She closed the door behind her and then turned to her left, where her door was. She opened it, grabbed the huge bag of books and then her school bag, and closed her door again, lugging the heavy things down the three flights of stairs to the kitchen.

It was warm and would have been cozy, if not for the chaos. Harry's new owl, Crummel, was soaring around, clutching a piece of bacon and hooting like mad. It was a rather large tawny owl, its golden eyes searching the room for a place to land, and finding none. Harry himself was trying to grab Crummel and get the bacon back, but it was difficult. He was red in the face and sweating. Ginny was trying to eat, but kept choking with laughter every time Harry muttered a particularly foul word at the bird. George was sitting in the corner, moping a usual, but the corners of his lips twitched as he watched the spectacle. Mrs. Weasley would shriek and duck every time the bird came close to her, and Mr. Weasley was aiming _Petrificus Totalus_ at it, without much success. Hermione laughed when she saw this, and her hand flew to her chest, dropping her school bag (but never the one holding the books - how on Earth could she have ever dropped so many valuable, wonderful books?), and her fingers brushed her _Head Girl_ badge.

She immediately sobered. She whipped her wand out of her pocket, aimed, and said, "_Accio bacon!"_

The strip of meat tore itself out of the talons and flew into her waiting palm.

"Thanks," said Harry, over the sounds of Ginny laughing and Mr. Weasley congratulating Hermione on her quick thinking. He wiped some sweat off his brow. Hermione smiled and handed him the piece.

Ron entered, carrying his trunk and Pigwidgeon in his cage. His hair was dishevelled and his eyes were still puffy, but better. His prefect badge glistened on his chest, as did Harry's.

There were more prefects that ever this year. Ron had been re-made a prefect, and Hermione had been named Head Girl, though on the list they all recieved she was simply listed as a prefect, as were Ginny and Neville. Luna and Cho had been made prefects for Ravenclaw, and Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, Zacharias Smith and Susan Bones were all Hufflepuff prefects. There were more prefects than ever before, and McGonagall was abandoning the one-of-each-gender rule. There were also the slytherin prefects, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Astoria Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode being them. Really, there were enough prefects to make up an entire new house. If there continued to be an abundance of them, Hermione would suggest that to whoever the Headmaster was at the time.

"Grab the portkey, all of you!" Mrs. Weasley ordered. "It'll be leaving very soon! Don't forget your things - you have your wands? Good! Trunks? Pets? Yes, Ginny, fine, Arnold can go with you - Fred! Get to work! Alright, all of you? Here we go!"

Their hands all touched the jar of radishes, and they were flung through space. And then they were standing in the Great Hall.

As good as it felt to be back at Hogwarts again, Hermione remembered back in the sixth and seventh year, when the floor in here had been littered with bodies and debris, and spells had been flying. They were survivors of war, and she couldn't forget that, standing in this room. The cieling was, as was customary, bewitched to look like the night sky, something she'd known even before first year and had shared willingly. Truly, it was betwitched to look like the sky, so at that moment, it was slightly dark, because the clouds hid the sun, thought there was no rain that disappeared three feet under the enchantment. The walls looked old in some places and brand new in others, and that was because she knew they'd repaired the damage done to the castle. She wondered if the window Snape had jumped out would still be broken. But as soon as she thought that, she knew it would have been fixed, along with everything else. Ginny, right next to her, gave a small sigh that sounded both remorseful and relieved. Harry grabbed Ginny's hand. Ron was silent.

McGonagall stood in front of them, right beside the Gryffindor table, which had a long red-and-gold tablecloth, above which were magically hung red-and-gold banners. Each house table was decorated much the same way, but with their house colors. but in the middle of the room as a new table with a white tablecloth with the word _Prefects_ embroidered over and over again in black thread. So they had their own table, not just common room.

"Ah, hello there," said the woman, wearing robes of emerald green. She walked toward them briskly. "Yes, yes, I see all of you here, and the others should be here shortly -"

There was a small _pop! _And Neville, Luna, Cho and Zacharias Smith stood behind them.

"Hello, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny," said Neville brightly. Luna smiled dreamily at them as a form of greeting.

"Hello Harry," said Cho slowly. "Hello Ginny, Ron, Hermione."

Hermione noted that she separated Harry's name from the rest of theirs. From Ginny's expression, she did too.

"Hello folks," said Zacharias lightly. "Professor."

McGonagall nodded. "Alright, now we're waiting on -"

There was another _pop!_ And Ernie Macmillan, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones appeared. There was another round of hellos, and Hermione was pleased to see that people from different houses were getting along so well.

There were several more _pop!_s, and Hermione was pleased to see that almost everyone who was in the D.A. had been made a prefect - Katie Bell, Terry Boot, Lavender Brown, Micheal Corner, Dennis Creevy, Justin Finch-Fletchy, Anthony Goldstein, Angelina Johnson, Lee Jordan, Padma and Parvati Patil, and Alicia Spinnet were all there. Hellos flew around the room like owls bringing news.

Right when things were starting to settle down, there was one more _pop!_

And the Slytherins showed up.

Draco Malfoy was the first one visible. His pale blond hair and icy gray eyes were impossible to miss. But he stepped behind Blaise Zabini, an action that surprised all of them. They were used to seeing him leading a small group. Of course, Crabbe was dead, but still. Blaise nodded politely to all of them, and Theodore, next to him, did the same. Millicent Bulstrode simply looked at them, offering no form of greeting. Astoria Greengrass, next to her, shook out her long ebony hair and smiled, seemingly the kindest of all of them. Hermione smiled back a the room grew silent.

Everyone around her was so tense, she decided to act.

She strode right over to Astoria and held out her hand, smiling as welcomingly a she could. "Hello, Astoria," she greeted pleasantly.

Astoria looked shocked, there was no other word for it, but she shook her hand in Hermione's. "Hello, Hermione," she said back, her voice quiet, her blue eyes confused but not, gladly, superior.

Hermione moved on to Millicent. "Millicent," she said, holding out her hand.

Millicent thought for a moment, and then shook her hand. "Granger."

Though some people might consider it rude, Hermione really didn't mind being called by her last name. she greeted Theodore in much the same fashion as Millicent, but Blaise Zabini beat her to it when she was to greet him. "Hermione," he said pleasantly, smiling.

She herself wa shocked, but she shook the hand he offered her. "Blaise." She smiled back.

And then it was Draco's turn. Blaise stepped out of her way, and Draco was left out in the open.

"Draco," said Hermione quietly, holding out her hand, preparing for him to refuse.

Draco's hand quivered as it met hers and shook. His grasp was warm, but not sticky, or sweeaty, though his hand did have quite a strong grasp. "Granger," he said, his voice choppy. He dropped his hand. His eyes had never once met hers, like the others' had.

And then she heard Harry's voice. "Astoria," he greeted. She turned. Down the line, Harry, then Ginny, then Ronald, and then pretty much everyone else was greeting the Slytherins. Hermione watched in fascination as the Slytherins slowly grew more comfortable with the people surrounding them; all except Draco, who stood tense, staring out of a window that showed a view of the forbidden forest.

Harry reached Draco. "Malfoy," he greeted, using the last name without thinking.

Draco didn't look at him, but shook his hand. "You almost died in there, Potter," he whispered, his eyes still locked on the forest. His tone wasn't malicious, as normal, he was simply stating a fact.

Harry nodded. "Yup."

"During... during the war, I wished you had died in there."

"Why?" Harry's voice was a little see-through; it was calm, but Hermione could tell he was beginning to get angry.

"Because everything would have been so much easier. My father wouldn't go to Azkaban, my mother wouldn't grieve, and people would look at me like I was something to fear instead of something to hate." He still spoke in a whisper.

Harry obviously wasn't angry anymore, and even Hermione was impressed by the honest answer. "I like how you thought of your parents first," he said simply. And then he stood by Hermione, and let the line move along.

When everyone had been greeted, Astoria was beaming, Millicent was smiling, Theodore was grinning, Blaise was laughing, and Draco was still looking at the forest. Some people even struck up conversations with the Slytherins, although everyone left Draco alone.

"Alright," said McGonagall, getting everyone's attention. "Everyone here knows where the Room of Requirement was?"

"_Was_?" said Harry incredulously. "What happened to it?"

"The spell was paused when we conjured up your new common room," McGonagall explained. "It is now your common room, and nothing else."

Harry grimaced, but nodded.

"Alright. Girls' dormitory is on the right, boys' on the left. You are to eat at this new fifth table here, with the white tablecloth that says 'Prefects'. You are dismissed. Be here at eight p.m. for the Sorting Ceremony, and be prepared to take everyone to the house common rooms."

They all started for the stairs, billowing out of the Hall, chatting with random people. Hermione walked beside a still silent Ron until she realized that Malfoy's badge hadn't said _Prefect_.

It had said _Head_ _Boy_.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ron?"

Ron was, per usual, silent.

"Ron, did you see Draco's badge?"

He shook his head, not even bothering with words.

"He's Head Boy."

Ron nodded.

Hermione was slightly angry with him. And then she remembered his reason for silence.

She stopped walking and made Ron stop by tugging him back to her. She raised her hand and used her thub to stroke his cheek gently. His eyes widened a little.

"It's okay, Ron, it's okay."

"No, it's not."

Okay, so that was definitely not what she wanted to hear, but it was still voiced out loud. The people walking around them kept going, some glancing back, but mostly continuing to the common room. Ron's blue eyes studied her face, watching for any sign of falseness or empathy instead of sympathy. He found none. She looked him dead in the eyes, and threw her arms around him, hugging him close, his body shaking the tiniest bit, her face burried in his mane of red. "It is, Ron, I know it hurts," she whispered, "but it's okay. I'm here, I'll help, you know Harry will help, too."

"I miss him," Ron whispered, his voice breaking twice and laced with sorrow. Hermione felt her heart break. Tears rose to her eyes, but she fought them down. Now was not the time to let Ron see her cry - not when he needed her to be strong.

"I know you miss him, Ron. I miss him too. But I think George might miss him most."

Ron chuckled and stopped the little shakes he was doing. Hermione pulled back to look in his eyes again.

"Fred and George were just two halves of the same whole," he said, explaining his laugh. "George misses him the most, because he lost half of himself."

Hermione waited.

Ron realized what he'd said and dropped his face to his hands, shaking again. Hermione gently removed his left hand from his face, and then his right. He offered no resistance. She replaced where his hands had been with her own, and guided his face slowly upward, once again fighting back the tears. "I love you," she reminded him. "And Fred does, too, even if you can't see him."

"Ron? Hermione? Oh -" Harry came into view of Hermione's peripheral vision, hand-in-hand with Ginny, and seeing them, stopped mid-sentence. "Should I leave?"

Hermione looked right at him, saying with her eyes what she couldn't with her mouth.

He immediately crossed the hallway to Ron and put his hand on his back. "Ron," he said, "C'mon, mate. We've got a common room to see."

Ginny tapped Hermione's shoulder, and when Hermione looked, gestured to take her place. Hermione nodded and slowly let go of Ron's head, moving out of the way slightly and taking his hand, instead. Ginny stood directly in front of her brother, hands on her hips, looking exactly like Mrs. Weasley when she was about to scold someone. And that's exactly what Ginny did.

"Ronald Weasley," she chastised, "You are about to cry. I am not about to cry. I am the youngest member of the family, Fred's only sister and a girl, for crying out loud - wait, I'm not crying out loud, and I'm not crying in silence either. We have time to do that at bed, but you are a prefect and you will not ruin how you look to the younger students as a role model because you lost someone in the war."

He looked taken aback. "Ginny -"

"Here's something for you, Ron," she continued, "most of them lost someone too. If they see you handling it like this, they're going to handle it like this, and it's going to be absolutely no fun whatsoever to go around a castle where there are tiny children breaking down in tears everywhere."

"Ginny -"

"I don't know about you, but I'm going to enjoy my time with my significant other and my friends and I am going to try and heal by not fretting over something we can't change. Hermione loves you, Harry's here for you, you even have me, Neville and Luna if you're desperate. Anyone up there would love to help you get through this, Ron, and they will, and still, if you can find another way to get over it, that would be great, too, because either way, what's done is done and who's dead is dead."

"Ginny -"

And furthermore, -"

"Let the man talk, Weaslette, he's trying to get _something_ out."

They all turned to look at Draco Malfoy, who was looking at them with an eyebow raised. Harry's smile slipped for a minute, but he plastered it back on. Hermione grinned at him, and then was too confused to keep doing it. Ron looked like a dog trapped in a box, and Ginny looked curious.

"Weaslette?" she asked. "Is that my new nickname?"

He shrugged. "It's better than Female Ginger, which is what the other Slytherins call you."

"It is," she said, absent-mindedly swirling a piece of her hair around her finger.

Suddenly, Draco's expression changed from nuetral to worried. "It is okay to call you Weaslette, right?"

They all looked shocked now - everyone but Draco had wide eyes. Harry's smile had slipped yet again, and Hermione's grin was evading her. Ron looked shell-shocked and Ginny looked pleasantly surprised: "I suppose, though I'd prefer if you'd just call me Ginny."

"I'm not quite that comfortable yet."

"Well could you at least get the other Slytherins to call me Weaslette? It's much nicer."

"I'll try."

And his platinum hair turned and went up the flight of stairs.

Ginny turned right to Harry. "Was I nice enough?"

Harry's hand dropped from Ron's shoulder and snaked around her waist. His lips pressed tenderly to her cheek, and he replied, "More than enough. And did you hear his response?"

Ginny giggled. "Of course."

Hermione squeezed Ron's hand. "What was it you were saying?"

He shook his head, causing the locks of hair to swish from side to side. "I forget."

"Well, come on, then, we've a common room to see."

Harry and Ginny walked past, once again with their fingers intertwined, talking about Crummel and Arnold. Hermione began to step forward.

"I remember."

She stepped back to let Ron say it.

"I was going to tell Ginny that she inturrupted before I got to say I love you back."

Hermione blushed and she leaned in for a quick peck on the lips. It had her mouth tingling, but just the tiniest bit. Kissing was still strange to her - after losing Fred, Ron hadn't been up to much kissing, and who else was she to kiss?

They set forward, toward the common room in comfortable silence.

They hallways of Hogwarts were as familiar as they were haunting. Again, every time they turned a corner, she half expected a Death Eater to pop out of nowhere and cast curses wildly, every time they passed a window, she expected to see a giant outside; every time they got onto a new floor, she remembered which walls hadn't been standing and how many people layed among the remains, lifeless. But she had to get over that, she told herself, because the war was over and done with, like Ginny had said, and she needed tomove on. She'd lost Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Dobby, but no one in her immediate family. That was one advantage of being muggle-born. Your parent's weren't automatically in danger when there was a wizard war.

And then the door to the Room of Requirement appeared.

It was just a door now, though, not ornately carved, and old and metallic-looking; because that door had been burned by Fiend Fyre. Thiis new one was simply made of chestnut wood, though it fit exactly in the frame.

Hermione realized they didn't know the password. And there was no portrait to tell it to.

A piece of paper fell from above their heads and landed on Ron's shoulder. He picked it off and read:

_I am by night what I am by day,_

_shining in every way._

_I'm a huge mirror, a round one,_

_but I'm the only found one._

Hermione immediately knew the answer. The moon, it was obvious. It was a moon by night and a moon by day, but the two were different, because at night, it shined with the sun's reflection - hense the mirror - and it was Earth's only moon.

"The moon," she said, out loud to no one in particular.

The door swung open to reveal a vast room, decorated, for the most part, with white. The floor was white, the walls were white, the fireplace was made of white stone - it all would have been totally overwhelming if not for the splashes of the house colors. On the right wall hung a bright, Red-and-gold Gryffindor banner, and under it were all of the Gryffindor prefects' bags - Hermione spied her own, along with Harry's, Ron's and Ginny's, not to mention one she knew to be Neville because it seemed to have a puple branch growing out of it. The north wall next to the fireplace was decorated with a Hufflepuff banner, under which were the Hufflepuff bags, and then Slytherin, and then Ravenclaw. The couch facing the fireplace had one red cushion, one blue cushion, one green cushion and one yellow cushion. The colors worked oddly well with each other. Every here and there throughout the room, you'd see one of the many white bookcases (looking much too empty, but she would fix that) filled with one row of red-and-gold binded books, one row of yellow-and-black, and so on and so forth. All the colors, though, were separated, which she thought inconvenient if the houses were ever to truly get along; they'd need to go to the same place as a person from another house, and then they'd run into each other, be forced to talk, realize the other person wasn't that bad, and then become friends. It was a good system. She'd see to it that these things were arranged. She _was_ Head Girl, after all.

Which reminded her of Draco, who was once again looking out of a window, though this time at the lake. The room was flooded with the prefects, and some were seating in different-colored chairs around the room having conversations, some were having conversations standing up, some were checking out the dormitories, some were checking out the bathrooms, and some were looking around awkwardly. Neville was surrounded by a group of D.A. Admirers and Luna was standing in the back of the crowd, smiling and waving, hoping to gain attention. Ginny went to talk to her, and Harry went to talk to Neville.

As soon as Hermione went to get her bag, Ron's hand tugged her back, and she fell into his arms, which he apparently took as incentive to snog her very, very passionately. Her lips tingled with his touch and both pairs moved in synchronization.

Most of the chatter died down and people whispered and giggled and snorted. Ron pulled away and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She bushed furiously and did the same to him.

Harry couldn't hold back his chortle, apparently. "Had to show her off to everyone, did you now?" Harry said between barks of laughter.

"Yep," Ron smiled, and Hermione's spirits lifted. She felt like smiling as largely as she could as Ron once again held his hand and hers together, and they went to retrieve their bags.


	3. Chapter 3

"We would like to welcome Professor David Yasmen as our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. With any luck, he'll be here more than a year."

There was a scattered laugh among the prefects at McGonagall's words.

"We'd like to welcome back Professor Firenze, who has agreed to teach Divination to years five through eight, while Professor Trelawny will teach to years one through four."

There was a loud snort from Professor Trelawny and several people giggled at her open display of hostility. She seemed to think they were laughing at the news of Firenze, though, and smiled.

"Alright. Now let the feast begin!"

McGonagall did a terrible Dumbledore, Draco knew that, but the effort counted. The food began to pop up at the table, and pretty much every single prefect helped him/herself to a very large portion of turkey, lamb and pumpkin juice. Draco stared at the food, seeing nothing but disappetizing platters of garbage and wondering how on earth these could be gourmet masterpieces. He took one small piece of a treacle tart, and swallowed it, bile almost immediately rising to his throat. He choked it down, his eyes watering at the too-salty, too-sour taste, and looked dow at his emtpy plate, and then around the table, where people were smiling and laughing, nodding their appreciation of the food. Draco didn't have to hide his sneer - it had been a while since he felt like sneering at anyone with his characteristic look.

"Hey, Blaise, I don't see Parkinson. Where is she?"

Draco's ears picked up the soft question from Terry Boot to Blaise easily, and he felt his stomach squirm. His mind drifted.

_"Bye, Draco."_

_"Pansy, don't - I never wanted -"_

_"Don't you see what I am?" she whispered, not even turning around to look at him. "I'm the very reason that everyone in there is going to hate Slytherins. I made a choice, I chose a path, and now I have to follow it."_

_"But, they can still win -"_

_"They, is it Draco?" she still didn't turn around, and Draco's fingers itched to grab her shoulder and make her. "I was under the impression you are with them."  
_

_"I never wanted any of this!" he said hotly, trying to ignore the fact that the room they were in could be penetrated at any minute._

_"Then you don't want any of me."_

_Draco was about to retort, but at the same moment, they both heard footsteps and two very familiar voices. They immediately bolted under a stall, and waited, while two pairs of old, ratty shoes appeared.  
_

_"Ron, are you sure -"_

_"We don't have any other guesses, Hermione, we've got to try."_

_"But how? How will you do it?"_

_"I've heard him say 'open' twice now, Hermione, I should be able to re-create the sound."_

_"Ron, parseltongue is a very rare and very ancient language that can only be spoken by -"_

_"Shut up and let me try."_

_They heard a warbled hiss._

_"Ron, that was nothing like -"_

_"Wait. Here we go!"_

_The sink they'd just been standing by disappeared, as did the others around it, and they all stared at a chasm._

_"Bye, Draco."_

_The whisper was barely audible, but Draco was trained to pick up any sound from Pansy. And then two more shoes, cleaner, newer, started toward and disappeared out of the door as Weasley helped Granger into the Chamber of Secrets._

Draco tensed automatically and the rest of the prefect table quieted when his throat made an odd sound that sounded similar to a whimper.

"Draco," Millicent whispered. "Don't be harsh, he didn't know."

"Know what?" Of course, that came from Granger.

Draco nodded his head toward Blaise sharply, indicating he should answer. "He asked Blaise, not me," he said tightly, between his teeth, his head throbbing. "Blaise should answer."

Blaise didn't take his eyes off Draco the entire time, not since the question had been asked. "You can say it," Blaise whispered to him, as he was sitting right beside him.

Draco shook his head.

But Blaise didn't accept that. "Really, Draco, you can say it."

Draco didn't know how to respond.

The words stirred in his mind. He knew they were true. Had he not spoken at the funeral, the one where there was no coffin, because they couldn't find the body and didn't want to waste money on an empty grave? Because her viciously pureblood parents, avid Death Eaters, didn't believe for a second that the Dark Lord was gone - they believed their daughter was so special, he'd taken her with him to be his lead Death Eater? Because he was only one who was able to admit the fact that she wasn't there, that he had torn her apart, piece by piece, body and soul? Had he not said these things already? To the entire funeral congregation? Had he not?

He had.

But to speak them out loud now meant there was no turning back. He could hide in his room at home, saying he would go back to Hogwarts and she would be there, waiting to tell him she was glad he was alive, and to ask if he bought her something, which he always did. But if he was here, and she wasn't, to say she never would be here again would make it too final for his mind to comprehend at the moment. He could fool his mind when it was at its least vulnerable - when he was just going to bed, or had finished a good book, or something of the sort - and say she was ill, and would be back from the Hospital Wing in no time, and she would laugh at him for worrying.

He couldn't say it.

But he couldn't say that he couldn't say it, because everyone was listening closely now and would hear. And Draco _did not do_ weakness.

He shook his head again. "He asked you, you answer," he tried to sound as normal as he could, but it was hard when he was fighting back the anger that threatened to wash over him in an endless wave of grief.

Blaise, once again, did not accept. "Say it, Draco. It'll help."

And Draco lost his temper.

Everything in his sight turned absolutely red and he seethed, froth coming from the corners of his mouth. He hadn't been this angry since she went to him and asked him... asked him... His nose twitched and his lips began to sneer for sheer protection of his normalcy. "I. Am. Not. Going. To. Say. It."

"Draco -"

"_I can't say it!_" he bellowed, standing up abruptly, nearly knocking over the bench. He brought his fist down on the table and the bang echoed across the hall, after his voice. "Why are you pushing me like this? Can't you tell I can't say it?"

"Can't say what, Draco?"

"It." his anger vanished suddenly at Granger's confusion. She really was confused by his outburst... confusing Granger wasn't easy. He got an odd sense of accomplishment, and then his anger returned, trippled. "It! I can't! She's... I..."

His fury was rippling through his veins, tearing at his robes, empowering him. He had the strangest urge to whip out his wand and curse Blaise into oblivion, and then the Boot kid for mentioning for her name. But he fought down the fire in his hand that was telling him to hurt, to cause pain, to kill -

And he nearly tripped over the same bench he almost knocked over running away from the hall.

"Mr. Malfoy!" McGonagall called after him. "Mr. Malfoy!"

But his feet slapped the ground hard and he paid no attention to the cries to return to the table from both the Headmaster and the prefects; Blaise's voice chased him out of there, pushing him father and farther away from the hall. He didn't know where he was going until he was standing in the Astronomy tower, looking out the window.

Wanted to kill. He'd wanted to kill the entire time. His body had desired to kill, his mind had burned to murder, to slay. He was a monster.

Because that was what he did to her.

His legs stopped working and he fell to his knees, his hands clawing at the dirty ground. He remembered the night Dumbledoor had stood here. How he'd disarmed him, how he'd come so close to being a creature there were no words bad enough to describe. How Dumbledoor had begged snape, and how Snape had raised his wand, and had said:

_"Avada Kedavra."_

The words echoed around the tower, pressing in on him, compressing him into a tiny square with no feelings but anger, and despair, and hopelessness, hopelessness that he had heard the night the Dark Lord died. Everything was supposed to be okay that night. Everything was supposed to end well. But he slayed before he killed Snape. He'd murdered before he murdered yet again. Potter's parents, Professor Lupin, Professor Snape, Cedric Diggory, Nymphadora Tonks, Fred Weasley, Sirius Black - and Harry Potter was the Godfather to an orphan or the people he'd killed. How many people had he orphaned, killed? He'd almost killed Arthur Weasley with that blasted snake, and Draco was given to understand to have caused the death of a houself, and Potter had a new owl, while he'd adored the other one, so Draco guessed it was dead, too. But him being dead wouldn't bring them back. It would never bring them back. Him flying against the wall because he refused to believe that the strongest wand in existence, the most powerful wand ever, the unbeatable Elder Wand, belonged to his enemy, to his foe. Potter never used more than a simple disarming spell. And Voldemort was dead because of him.

About a week after the ocurence, the whole story had come out in the paper under the headlines **HARRY POTTER, BOY WHO LIVED/CHOSEN ONE, GIVES FULL STORY ABOUT EVERYTHING**. Draco had wanted to burn it, but upon reading it, he couldn't be mad at Potter anymore. Because when Potter had reached the part where he'd been captured and taken to Malfoy manner and how Draco and almost identified him, he'd merely said:

_Draco was asked to identify me. I knew he knew who I was, and I expected him to rat me out, but he got this weird expression on his face, like he'd swallowed rat poison, and said 'Maybe. I dunno'._

He had made Draco seem sorry for something Draco did feel sorry for, something people usually hid. Draco Malfoy? Feelings? Never! They'd scoff att the idea.

But Draco did have feelings. Rage, sadness, joy - the last one was the basis for all things he was not to have now. The first two were what he'd have to live on.

"Mr. Malfoy."

McGonagall was behind him, but the anger churning in his veins kept him locked on place, so he didn't turn to face her. He knew she was out of breath - she'd huffed his last name as if to get smoke out of her nose.

"This is not how the Head Boy behaves."

"You know how you screamed when Voldemort said Potter was dead?" The words flew off his tongue before he could stop them, but after he said it he did not regret the sentence that formed in his mind. She was evidently surprised; her heavy breathing continued for a while while she thought.

"Yes."

"Remember Ginny Weasley's scream?"

He could feel her shudder.

"Imagine her scream if she had watched him die, and could do nothing to prevent it, no matter how hard she tried."

Again, he could feel her shudder.

"Not imagine that sound coming from me."

There was not a tremble in the air.

"I doubt you ever screamed so femininely, Mr. Malfoy," was the choked reply. Her throat sounded tight. Her attempt at a joke was absolutely pitiful. And once again, he was filled with rage. He stood again, his legs working suddenly, and turned to face her slowly.

"Imagine my voice, twisted in agony. Imagine my voice, yelling out the name of the person I grew up loving. Imagine me, being held back by people who think they love me but are really just empty vegetables, filled with the ability to think and move, watching as she's torn limb from limb, heart and soul and mind, being shredded by Voldemort."

McGonagall was still taller than him, though, and her staredown was therefore more impressive. But Draco's eyes were flickering between memories she didn't want to see, and she couldn't keep looking as Pansy Parkinson was murdered in the most violent manner she could think of from the eyes of a seventeen-year-old boy who had loved her.

"She wanted to give up Potter."

"She never did," Draco said, still not tearing his eyes from the individual creases on her face. "She wanted to save somebody else."

McGonagall looked back at him. His eyes had become steel gray once more, but they glistened.

"Who?"

It was in the middle of the night when Draco heard footsteps.

Literally. The footsteps somewhere to his left in the dormitory were slightly heavy and sounded as if the person was drunk, but he knew it was probably the same sleep-deprivation that infected him. He silently pitied the tired walker, but ignored it. The door opened very, very quietly, and then shut again, slightly louder. Theodore stirred next to him.

Draco closed his eyes one more time, attempting to find sleep, but it evaded him. He hadn't been able to sleep for more than two hours at a time, and only around five in the morning, after a long night of trying to sleep, for about three weeks. And when he closed his eyes, he remembered why. Flashes of green light and red light battle behind his eyelids, screams echoed, walls crumbled, a giant roared somewhere, and Weaslette, Weasley and Granger were all shouting Potter's name, their voices the only ones there that were clear among the chaos; it was a terrifying, wretching sound to hear Weaslette scream Potter's name with such passion, such grief, grief she hadn't even showed when her brother died. She was tough, Weaslette was, but having Potter ripped from her had made her almost inhumane. She had been broken. Only Potter could have fixed her. And Weasley's voice was just as sorrow-filled, but it sounded defeated; he had no hope of winning anymore, whilst Weaslette was going to fight until she was dead next to Potter. And Granger's - he didn't know how to describe Granger's. It had sounded almost weak. Her voice hadn't broken, she was still strong, and he knew it, but she sounded as if she'd just lost her train of thought, which was something Granger never did, and was incapable of grasping that Potter wasn't there.

If there was anything Draco understood, oddly enough, it was his enemies' reactions to Potter's fake death. Everyone had different ways of dealing with that magnitude of pain - in Weasley's case, it was to believe that when his friend was gone, everything they'd had built around him was gone, too. In Granger's case, it wasn't so much losing everything you built around him, it was what was built on him: she had built hope, dreams, friendship, determination, and pretty much all of her bravery on Potter, and it gave credence to the idiom 'feeling your world crumble around you'. And Weaslette's had been the loss of true love, the awful, heart-twisting, warped scream of someone who had lost everything they'd ever had, not just what they'd built on. She had built literally her heart and soul into Potter, craved a nook out of a brick wall, shoved her heart in there and closed it up. Potter was gone - so was her heart. Granger had had the materials to re-build everything, it was just the foundation she'd needed, and she'd had it with Weasley. Weasley had lost too much all at once, and was blind to the pieces he could use to build, like new love - Weaslette had loved Potter for too long to rescind that, but Weasley and Granger were still new enough to send fresh pieces of material. Draco wasn't sure why he felt that everything to do with death and pain was like a building, but it made sense to him. And however hurt they'd been by that storm that blew their building over, they'd each had some strength left to continue fighting - Weaslette had had her family, Weasley has had his family and Granger, and Granger had had Weasley. But, Draco had to face it - Potter was the reason they kept fighting, because even though he was dead, some remnant of Weaslette's heart was still burried in there, beating, and Granger's hopes had been struggling under the debris, whilst Weasley's beiefs had been lying down, breathless and terrified, resting under the cover of rubble. Weasley was the weakest of the three, and his scream had been the least horrible; Granger's had been truly, magnificently twisted, but Weaslette's had been the worst. Because Draco had heard someone else scream like that. And it had been him.

He sat bolt upright in bed, not noticing that he was coated in a cold sweat. He threw the covers off of him and swung his legs over the side of the bed, paying no mind to slippers as his feet reached the cold floor. He stood, and got a head rush, but ignored the sudden feeling of the blood leaving his limbs as he began to use them, walking out of the dorm.

He wasn't sure what it was, but every time he actually managed to shut his eyes, the worst two hours of the battle were the dream his mind chose to play. The hour Pansy had left; the hour Potter died; and his dream always cut short right as Granger, Weaslette and Lovegood were losing to Bellatrix.

He patted out of the room, taking care to close the door very quietly so as to not wake anyone up. And then he heard voices.

"Ron? Why are you up? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Ginny."

"Liar."


	4. Chapter 4

"Leave, Ginny," Weasley ordered. It came from between his teeth.

Once again, Draco felt guilty for listening into a conversation, but this one was partiularly boring, so he didn't feel too bad. So Weasley was distraught - understandable. He'd lost a brother. But why didn't he get Granger, or even his sister, to help him like last time? Because he wanted to be alone, Draco reasoned, but he's a bloody idiot.

Weasley didn't seem to agree, but Weaslette sure did. "Not likely, Ron," she said. He heard a soft squishing sound and guessed he'd sat down beside her brother on a couch. "Missing him?"

"Yes."

Draco was surprised. Not that he'd said yes, of course Draco'd been expecting that, but the answer had come much too quickly to be believable - it was obvious that even if it was true, it wasn't all. He strained to hear.

"What else?" Weaslette demanded.

"I..."

"Ronald Weasley, you had better -"

"It's Hermione."

Draco felt, for some odd reason, like he'd been punched in the gut just hearing him say her name so... lovingly. When Weaslette said Potter's name, it was never gushy and over-the-top, like Weasley's way right now when he talked about Granger. But behind the mushiness was a sadness - not powerful, but defeated.

"What about Hermione?" Weaslette's voice became much softer now, comforting.

"I think - Ginny, you know I love her, but -"

"_But_? Ron, you love her."

"I do," he agreed, whole-heartedly. Draco's paled a little at the mention of love, but stayed put. "But, Ginny, I'm not... coping."

There as no immediate response from Weaslette - Draco himself had to stop his tongue from splurting _'Really, I hadn't noticed'_ and he'd've bet she did too. But she responded, "And so...?"

"Ginny, Hermione needs someone that can be whole for her."

Weaslette paused again, but this time Draco knew she was letting his words sink in. "Ron, are you saying you need a break with her?"

Weasley's turn to pause had come. But, eventually, he muttered, "Yeah, I am."

"Ronald Wealey..!"

"Calm down, Ginny!" Weasley hissed. There was a moment's silence, in which he could hear Weaslett'e deep breathing. Draco tried not to make a sound, but his breathing had, unbeknownst to him, accelerated as the conversation had moved forward. He had just got it under control when Weasley piped up again. "It's obvious she wants me, Gin, but I just can't deal having someone on my arm at the moment. I need time to get over this death, and then we can be together."

"Ron, she's the only girl in the trio that defeated Voldemort. The boys will be flocking to her if you dump her now. You might not get another chance to be with her."

Weasly was uncertain, but said, "If she loves me like I love her, she'll understand."

"But then," Wealette argued, "what was the point of saying you loved her in the hallway today? The point of kissing her?"

Weasley had ready-made answers for these questions. "I had to do both of them one last time," he said. "And kissing her in front of them like that was saying I really do love her, I just can't deal with her."

"You make her sound like an adorable, badly-behaved dog." Her tone was acidic.

"She's no Sirius, but I love her anyways."

Draco could tell Weaslette was struggling not to laugh, but she did chuckle a small bit before composing herself again. "What are you going to tell her? When?"

"I don't know. Soon."

"I'll tell her if you don't do it tomorrow."

"What?" Weasley yelped, and Draco heard feet hit the floor. He must have jumped to his feet.

"Calm, Ron! I said I'll tell her if you don't do it tomorrow."

"Why tomorrow? Why not later?"

"You've put it off an entire summer, Ron. If she's single tomorrow, she'll have the best shot at a love-life this year could give her."

"But - b-but, I -"

"You want her to be happy, correct?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Then don't delay what she'll figure out is coming. She's extremely bright, Ron, you know that, she'll probably see it coming three days from now. Don't make her heart break any longer than it should, don't drag it out. Abrupt, clean breaks can hurt just as much, but she's used to abrupt things by now."

Draco hated admitting how wise Weaslette sounded just then, but she did. Weasley seemed more ready to admit it, though, than Draco did, and sat back down.

"Are you... are you sure?"

"Positive, Ron. Do it tomorrow night, when she has the chance to cry in her sleep. I can comfort her if I need to." she sounded much older than Draco knew she was. "And she'll have lessons in the morning, and she'll never miss them, you know that. Maybe the normalcy will help."

Silence.

More silence.

Finally...

"Fine, tomorrow then."

Ginny sighed. "Alright, good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to tell Harry."

"Tell Harry? Why?"

"He's my boyfriend, Ron, I tell him everything."

"Who's to say he won't leave you?"

There was an imediate whooshing sound as Weaslette pulled out her wand. Ron gasped, but Draco heard nothing but silence.

"Harry will never leave me," Weaslette said, her voice containing wisdom he wasn't sure anyone but Dumbledore had had. "And we both know that."

More silence. Draco was finding increasingly difficult to breathe. The air was tense.

"Why won't you leave him?"

"Because unlike you, Ron, I'm tough." Her tone was acidic again. Draco could only imagine how her eyes would be blazing, and was very, very glad he was not Weasley. "And I'm not going to lose yet another person in my life because I can't have one of them."

Weasley was, understandably, shocked. "Gin..."

Weaslette had put her wand away. "He'll be in there?" she asked him coldly.

Draco's heart sped up. She was going to come over there, see him, know he'd been listening...

"Yes," Wesley answered, still breathless. "Third on the right."

"Thank you."

Footsteps.

Draco thought quickly. He did not want to be caught eavesdropping on something like that. With panic, he reached for the door to fly back inside, but he knew she'd see him moving. But he'd already opened it -

An idea. Draco thanked his brain immensely and shut the door loud enough for both Weasleys to hear. He then closed his eyes part-way and rubbed at them, aywning sleepily as he walked with a wobble toward the middle of the room. He could tell both people had frozen, and he pretended to have just seen them - he froze to, and put on a sorry expression at the sight of Weaslette in her rather short, tight-fitting nightgown.

"Should I go?" he asked, careful to make his voice sound groggy.

Weasley seemed to buy it. He shook his head, and his longer-than-usual ginger hair splayed around his face. "I was just leaving," he murmured, slipping past Weaslette and entering the boys' dormitory.

But Weaslette wasn't fooled. "How much did you hear?" she asked.

Draco lost the sleepy act. "I heard you ask, 'He'll be in there?' and then him answer you, and then you say thanks," he said quickly, but not too quickly. He had learned to pace his speech just right when he'd been put on trial...

Weaslette raised an eyebrow. "You heard more than that," she accused.

Draco held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, so you also said you weren't going to leave Potter because you're tough."

She seemed satisfied, but then over-mothery. "Go to bed," she ordered, "but wake Harry and tell him I need to speak with him out here."

Draco raised an eyebrow this time. "You think he'll believe me?"

Weaslette thought for a moment, and sthen sighed. "Fine. I'll do it. But go to bed, I don't want you listening again."

Draco nodded and began to go back into the room, but paused, a sudden thought occurring to him. "Weaslette," he asked, turning back to her, making her stop, as she had followed him. Her red hair was slightly messe up, but she had dimples nobody could miss, eve when she wasn't smiling. "Why are you up so late?"

Weaslette seemed at a loss for an answer - scratch that, she didn't want to give an answer. "Bad dream," she said. Draco didn;t believe her, but he had no reason to care, so he went back to the door and held it open for her.

But she was still standing in the middle of the room, pale and outllined against the darkness. she was looking out of a window, obviously lost in thought.

"Aren't you going to talk to Potter?" Draco called quietly.

She seemed to remember he was there. "No," she whispered back, quietly. "It can wait until morning."

And with that, she turned and went back into the girls' room, closing the door slowly behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione hadn't been able to sleep very well that night; thoughts of Ron, lying dead on the ground next to Fred, kept penetrating her mind right when she was about to fall asleep, and though she knew they were false, they never failed to jerk her right back into alertness. She'd been well aware that Ginny had left the room at some point, but she'd finally managed to drift off before she came back in. So when the very beginnings of sunlight was peeking through the window and she was awakened, she thought to ask Ginny where she'd gone. But Ginny either hadn't returned, or had left again. Hermione gently got out of bed, wincing as her feet touched the ground and the coldness stung her heels. Everyone was sleeping around her. Some people slept on their sides, some people slept on their backs, some on their stomachs; some snored, some were silent, some had delicate flutterings of breaths. Hermione grinned at the sight of everyone so peaceful, marvelling that they'd all made it through the night without a nightmare from anyone.

But her glad thoughts were punctured when Alicia Spinnet sat straight up and screamed.

Hermione was already out of bed, so she was the first to reach Alicia's side. Alicia was panting after using so much air for her scream. But her scream had been one of terror, but reluctant admittance; she'd screamed as if already beaten. That scared Hermione more than a scream of failure, and _that_ scared her more than the scream itself. But she kneeled by Alicia's bed and took her hand.

"Alicia?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"He j-just kept d-dying," Alicia said, stuttering as she tried not to sob. "He j-just k-kept dying!"

Hermione squeezed her hand as the girls around them shouted various 'what happened?' and 'what's wrong?'s. "Who did?" she asked, making her voice soothing.

"P-professor L-lupin..."

Hermione's heart stuttered. "You saw him die?" she asked quietly.

Alicia nodded, and the sobs broke free of her chest, and she dropped her head into her free hand, weeping loudly. Hermione felt like joinging her. She'd never been close to Alicia, really, but seeing someone in such a vulnerable state tended to make her compassionate towards them.

the door flew open and Ginny flew through it. "Who screamed?" she demanded, but then saw the crowd surrounding Alicia and Hermione, and pushed through it, immediately followed by Harry, who appreared right behind her, his face clearly very worried.

Ginny knelt on Alicia's other side. "Alicia, it's okay," she soothed.

Alicia shook her head through her tears. "At first, D-dolohov j-just sent st-stunning spells his way, b-but then Y-yaxley c-cursed him from b-behind, and th-then T-tonks c-came and g-got so angry sh-she tr-tried to use C-crucio, b-but Amycus C-carrow u-used Avada Kedavra and she f-fell d-down b-beside him..."

Hermione ooked to Harry and Ginny, who looked confused, but just as horrified as she felt. "Lupin," she squeaked to them.

Their confusion vanished, leaving just horror behind.

"And th-they'd j-just had a s-son!" wailed Alicia.

At this, Harry intervened.

"Yes, they'd just had a son," Harry said firmly, trying to hide his look of disgust at Dolohov, Yaxley and Amycus Carrow. "And he will have a good, loving childhood with his mother and godfather."

"Who's his g-godfather?"

"Me."

Alicia hiccupped and stopped sobbing, but tears still ran down her face.

"I knew Lupin, Alicia," Harry whispered. "He wouldn't have been happy here, among us, being what he was. He saw himself as a problem, as a danger. He saw himself as something revolting, like a blotch of black on a white canvas; something that should be removed."

"But he was always my favorite," said Alicia. "He was a good person."

"He was," Ginny intruded. "He still is - he's just not allowed to be good _here_, not with so many people that are bad."

Alicia hiccupped once more, rubbed her eyes, and nodded.

Hermione felt pride bubble up in her chest for Harry and Ginny, pride that vanquished the horror at the tale of Lupin and Tonks' deaths. She grinned broadly at them, and they smiled back, though Hermione found it impossible to miss their stressed glance at each other before they did.

When everyone was sure Alicia was okay, things calmed down. Harry seemed to realize he was in a room full of scantily-clad women, turned as scarlet as the gryffindor banner, and almost tripped over his feet on his way out. Ginny chuckled, and everyone took that as their cue to get dressed. Ginny got dressed rather slowly; Hermione knew she wanted nobody to see her as she ran after Harry, because she was very independant; but Hermione dressed quickly and pretended to rummage in her trunk for something until all others had left the room.

Hermione was ready when Ginny made to bolt out the door after Harry. She grabbed the red-head's arm, and said, "Explain," in the same tone she'd used with Grawp when she forced him to put her down.

Ginny looked wary. Extremely wary. "Explain what?" she tried.

Hermione didn't buy that for a second. "The look, Ginny. Between you and Harry."

"What look?"

"Ginny, I know for a fact that you are a strong, independant, honest woman. So stop the lies and explain."

"No." Ginny pulled out of her grasp and glared, her normally brown eyes icy. "I won't."

"If you could tell Harry -"

"I couldn't," Ginny snapped. "And that's all you're getting."

"Oh." Hermione thought for a moment. "So does that mean you two had a fight?"

Ginny lost all of her ferociousness, but tried to maintain her dignity. "So what if it does?" she said.

Hermione gave her a look.

"I'm going down to breakfast," said Ginny haughtily, "to talk about Quiddditch. Not that you'd understand."

"It's a stupid game," Hermione said, suddenly passionate about the one thing they couldn't agree on all summer. "It's all around the one person, and then no matter how well both teams played, that one person manages to trap a gold ball in its sleeve or something, it's over and that person wins."

"Not necessarily," Ginny defended, forgetting breakfast. "If the other team is ahead by more than one-fifty, they win. And that's really the point of the game, to make sure everybody else plays hard enough to achieve that so when the game ends, it's on their terms."

"But it makes no sense! If that's it, you have no defensive positions whatsoever!" Hermione said, "and your offense is blunt and without a pattern!"

"We go through strategy meetings," Ginny said, "and everything is planned out just fine, thank you."

"But then you're excluding the Seeker from the strategies, because he has to go wherever the snitch goes," Hermione pointed out.

"We plan that, too," Ginny retorted sourly. "He's the basis for the strategies, along with the goals."

"But then there's no need for tryouts," Hermione said. "If you can teach someone a pattern, you can teach it to anyone under the sun."

"There are too a need for tryouts!" exclaimed Ginny hotly. "Some people are just naturally better at it!"

"That's prepostorous," Hermione scoffed.

"Hypocrite," Ginny snarled. "Have you noticed you're just naturally better at schoolwork than everyone else? And yet when it comes to the one thing you don't understand, skill and talent can apparently be taught!"

"Skill and talent can be taught anywhere, even with things I do understand!" Hermione snarled back. "And it's not talent that gets me by on schoolwork, it's relentless effort!"

"You don't have to put in relentless effort because it comes easier to you!"

"No easier than anyone else!"

"You _bloody_ _idiot_!" Ginny screamed at her, turning red. "Do you think I like having you around the house? Do you think I like watching you get perfect grades, beating everyone else to an answer and never keeping your know-it-all mouth shut? Bloody hell, Hermione, you're not athletic, so get over it! Quidditch is great and if you're not naturally gifted at understanding things, like you say you're not, you're obviously too stupid to get that!"

"_I am not stupid_!"

"Then you _can_ understand things!"

"No, I - well, I -"

"You see?" Ginny said, triumphant, leaning back to bask in her victory.

And then neither girl really knew what happened, but they were hugging each other and crying and apologizing and calling each other idiots.


	6. Chapter 6

The clamor of the Great Hall was welcome to Hermione's ears. Ron turned red every time she looked at him, let alone spoke to him, and Ginny was obviously pretending nothing was wrong. Harry was irritable - he kept stabbing his pumpkin pastry with unnecessary force - and Hermione guessed it had something to do with the red-headed girl on her right. But the noise of the Great Hall seemed to make all the adjectives vanish, and it was just her, Ron, Harry and Ginny, sitting safely at a table, surrounded by friends. Everyone else around the table was laughing, smiling, grinning, giggling, flirting, chatting, and other various verbs - but Draco sat as far from everyone as possible, broodily staring at his food, not bothering to touch it.

McGonagall was nowhere in the hall. Her seat had been vacant all morning - nobody had seen her.

Hermione took a drink of her pumpkin juice. It was heavenly. And Ginny aparently thought so too, because she'd taken a drink at exactly the same moment and had set her glass down with an expression on her face matching Hermione's. But Draco had also taken a drink; he'd set his glass down looking revolted.

Hermione was curious about this. So was Ginny. Their eyes locked and they nodded to each other. They both stood and moved to Draco at the exact same moment, Ginny sitting on his left and Hermione across from him. A few curious eyes turned toward them, Harry's and Ron's included, but they ignored them. Draco looked surprised for a fleeting moment, but his impasive stare at his food was resumed quickly.

"Ferret," said Ginny lightly, plucking a chocolate-covered peanut from his plate and plopping it into her mouth.

"Weaslette." It was said monotonously. Hermione raised her eyebrows, but Ginny shook her head, and she lowered them again, thoroughly confused.

Ginny leaned toward him and whispered something in a voice too low for Hermione to hear. She was irritated; secrets were not really necessary anymore, were they? She opened her mouth angrily.

The doors of the Great Hall flew open with a clang, and McGonagall and Kingsley burst through them. Both seemed angry.

"Minerva -"

"I said _no_, Kingsley!"

McGonagall did not raise her voice lightly, and everyone knew this, so the forceful inturruption of the Minister's seemingly pleading sentence brought great surprise to all. All voice in the hall stopped; and then Ginny looked falsely happy again, Harry looked irritable and Ron wouldn't meet her eyes. She was growing angrier. She didn't understand anything that was going on. She _hated_ not understanding, or not knowing.

McGonagall had been taking long strides toward her place at the front of the hall, but Kingsley's legs overtook her and he reached the spot first, forcing her to look at him.

"I sent the owl -"

"I recieved it this morning!" she said shrilly, clearly very angry.

"There is no reason not to go through with it!" Kinglsey argued, his voice booming.

"What's going on?" asked Professor Sprout, leaving her seat at the staff table and going to join their conversation. Hagrid looked keen on doing so, too. "Minerva? What does Kingsley want?"

McGonagall glance at Sprout and said something through her teeth. Sprout gasped.

"Kingsley! Why, of all the - I don't - it's ridiculous!" the Professor sputtered in reaction to the words nobody else had heard.

"Wha's goin' on?" Hagrid ased, rising to his feet.

Kingsley turned to face the crowd.

"The Triwizard Tournament will once again be taking place," he announced loudly.

The hall filled itself with shouts and yells, making all conversation impossible. Harry had frozen in his spot, and both Hermione and Ron had turned instinctively to him. Ginny looked sghell-shocked.

Draco's face briefly showed a flash of hope, and thend espair, and then blankness once again.

"Not with Hogwarts!" McGonagall shouted above the chaos at Kingsley.

"SILENCE!"

Kingsley's booming voice cut through the chaos and re-created the silence. Hermione's eyes had not left Harry's face, which had gone considerably pale.

"Now," Kinsley started. "I -"

"For the love of Merlin, Kinglsey, I will not accept this!" McGonagall trilled.

Kingsley turned to Mcgonagall, but still addressed the entire hall. "The other two school who have accepted wish Hogwarts to be the third, Minerva."

"They only want to meet Harry!" Terry Boot yelled out.

"SILENCE!" Kingsley shouted again. Terry fell silent, but McGonagall didn't.

"Well, he's right," McGonagall said pompously. "They wish only to meet Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger."

Hermione was seriously flattered to have been a part of that sentence, but Harry seemed to be growing more and more statue-like by the second. She yearned to run to him, but her own limbs seemed frozen.

"Nobody else will accept!" Kingsley paried. "And these two only accepted that on the condition of Hogwarts!"

"Then don't have the tournament," said McGonagall frostily.

"The Goblet won't permit us to put it off any longer, Minerva!" Kingsley shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "It's been acting up since Harry won the contest!"

A few murmurs at how Harry was on first-name terms with the Minister, and all was quiet again.

"And you've never mentioned this because?" McGonagall demanded. "If I didn't know any better, Kingsley, I'd say you made that up on the spot."

"I did not!" Kingsley replied. The heated discussion made Hermione's head throb. "You know as well as I do, Minerva, you saw the goblet already!"

"This tournament is _not_ going to happen!"

"It is, because the other two schools are on their way already!"

"You know what happened last time!" McGonagall yelled.

"It is not going to happen this time,_ Voldemort is dead_!"

The hall was filled with shudders at the name, but all froze when a voice said, "People still die in the tournament, Kingsley."

Harry had risen to his feet, white as a ghost, and had not yelled, but had said it with enough conviction to stop even Kingsley in his tracks.

McGonagall was not phased, however. She nodded at Kingsley. "I will not have any students dying this year."

Kingsley turned to Harry.

"We've changed the challenges," he said. "They're only deadly if you're not cut out for it, and the goblet only picks people who are."

Harry deliberated a moment, and then turned to McGonagall.

"I understand your opposition, Professor," he said quietly. "I really do. But as long as it causes no harm, I see no reason not to go through with it."

McGonagall flushed red, but then regained her composure quickly. "Very well," she said tightly. "The Triwizard Tournament will go on as scheduled."

There were a great number of boos, and about the same number of cheers.

McGonagall raised her hand for silence. Once again, it fell. Hermione felt like it was boxing her ears.

"The rules from last time still apply," she announced. "Any student under seventeen years of age may not compete. And a rule I myself am adding -"

Everyone waited, even Kingsley.

"_Nobody must put any name but their own in the goblet_."

There were definitely more boos than cheers this time, but McGonagall didn't try to stop it. Sprout put her arm around the Headmistress's shoulders and began to talk quietly as they went back to their seats. Hagrid sat down again, looking shocked and scared.

Everyone at the prefect table was frozen, even the Slytherins - so it was no surprise that no one had noticed that Draco had slipped away.

Kingsley made his way down to Harry and said, "I need to speak to you alone."

Hermione's joints suddenly worked again, and she sprang to her feet and walked to Harry's side. "If you talk to him, you can talk to me, too," she said gruffly. She felt slightly guilty for taking the offensive to Kingsley, who had helped her on a thestral last year, but nobody would separate her from her best friend now.

Ron came to Hermione's side. "Me, too," he added, rather lamely, Hermione thought.

Ginny appeared at Harry's side. "You've left me out too many times," she spat. "Not again."

Harry took her hand and looked defiantly at the Minister, who looked slightly ruffled. They all waited expectantly.

"Fine," he said. "Come along, all of you. But be warned - you may never sleep without nightmares again."


	7. Chapter 7

Draco wasn't sure what he was doing, but it sure wasn't standing in that Great Hall with the digusting platter of food and the symphathetic losers and the people who were grieving frieds and family as they all shouted at the idea of more death.

Death. It was such a constant thing. Never let up, did it? Someone died in almost every year of his Hogwarts life - Quirrel, the memory of Tom Riddle (the whole school had heard, naturally), that Pettigrew guy came close in third year, he'd heard, in fourth, it'd been Cedric Diggory, and in his fifth year Sirius Black had been killed by none other than Aunt Bella. In his sixth year, the Death Eater had died, and he'd watched Snape kill Dumbledore. But last year... last year, there had been over two hundred and fifty deaths while Voldemort had reigned. And most of them had simply been because they were in the way or because he was bored. Then there were the ones like Charity Burbage that he killed because they had different opinions than he did; and then there was Snape, because he supposedly had something Voldemort wanted.

Snape. He missed his favorite teacher regularly. More than once, he'd wonderd if his portrait was hanging up there in the Headmaster's office, almost always to lie to himself and say of course it was. But he realized now that it probably wouldn't be. He'd been a good man with a lot of bad qualities, but he'd stayed loyal to Dumbledore even after killing him, something Draco had never been. He'd hidden his secret so well, the castle probably wouldn't even recognize what a good man he was, and that he deserved to be on the wall.

Draco knew that the gargoyle would let him past even if he didn't know the password; he'd heard Flitwick mumbling about it when he was entering his classroom. And so he changed his path abruptly and whirled around to the direction of the Headmaster's office. It'd be empy; McGonagall was still in the Hall.

He was halfway there when he heard the voices from around the corner. He pausred slightly to hear.

"Hermione, what is that?" came a hushed whisper, almost as if the whisperer was afraid to speak out loud.

"It's a Kneazle," came a steadied reply from Granger. "Kneazles are very intelligent magical creatures. They resemble flecked, speckled or spotted cats with a lion's tail and outsized ears -"

"We know what it bloody looks like," muttered Weasley. Granger ignored him.

"Although independent and occasionally aggressive, they can take great liking to certain witches or wizards, making excellent pets. Kneazles have a knack for identifying suspicious persons and for guiding their owner home when lost. Their owners need a license because Kneazles look unusual enough to stifle the curiosity of Muggles. They can cross-breed with cats."

"How will this give us nightmares?" said Weaslette's voice, slightly louder than the other voices.

Kingsley spoke next in a regular voice - he, apparently, wasn't afraid of the Kneazle. "This one isn't particularly disturbing. Given what it shows, I'm surprised this came up."

"What does it sh-"

Potter never finished his sentence, because Granger squealed, Weaslette cursed, Weasley gasped and Potter choked on his words quite literally.

Draco thought only for a moment about his next action. He peeked around the corner.

The Goblet of Fire stood there, unchanged from those many years ago. But the flames dancing at the top of it had an image weaving through the flecks of fire; and the image was gruesome. It showed -

"A Manticore," breathed Granger.

Draco looked as a beast with a human-like head, a lion's body, and a scorpion's tail with a stinger began to eat a young child alive. There was no sound from the picture, but Draco knew the young boy would be screaming.

"What the _hell_ is a Manticore?" demanded Weaslette.

"The Manticore is one of the wizarding world's most dangerous creatures. It is a sentient beast, capable of intelligent speech, but has not been classified as a being due to its violent tendencies. Sometimes the Manticore is reported of having a tail like a lion's, except it has a spiked ball on the end. These spikes are supposedly able to be shot out of the tail, and new ones grow in their place immediateley. A Manticore's skin repels all known charms, so is effectively hard to subdue a Manticore with magic. The Manticore originated in Greece, and is very rare. The sting of the Manticore causes instant death, and it is reputed to croon softly to its victims as it devours them."

Silence. And then Weasley muttered, "Bloody hell, Hermione, you know too much."

"I beg to differ," said Granger. "You wanted to know what it was, so I explained. I wouldn't be able to if I didn't know so much."

But Draco's eyes hadn't left the image. The blood from the boy's torso, lying on the ground, was seeping through the blades of grass and into the air, making it red and damp around him. He cried, the tear streaks easy to see. The Manticore chewed on his arm - that it had ripped off - for a while before deciding the living piece of flesh was better. And Draco found he couldn't top watching as the Manticore walked slowly over, made a soothing face, and opened its mouth -

All too quickly, the boy transformed into Pansy. Draco jumped back as its jaw closed on the neck -

And then the flames erupted and the image was gone.

Draco was understandably shaken. Nobody else had appeared to see the hange from boy to Pansy. He tried to force the image out of his head, but it wouldn't leave. It rattled around in his mind's eyes, causing him to dwell on the moment where her face had been the one crying, her face had been the one screaming, crying, the one knowing she was dying, going to die. And he couldn't help as the warm liquid spilled over his eyes and ran down his cheeks to his pointed chin, slipping easily off the end and dripping onto the floor.

Draco knew the others were talking - he could make out Granger's annoying voice biting through his shield of pain - but he couldn't understand the words. He tried shutting his eyes, but the tears leaked from between his eyelids; he tried covering his face with his hands, but it just got his hands wet; and lastly, he tried wiping his face off with his sleeve, but it was a loose sleeve, and pulled back to reveal the Dark Mark he'd been permanently branded with.

And he collapsed.

Where had all of his self-control gone? Where was the brave, stuck-up, snotty Draco that would ignore a jibe with just another petty insult? Where was his pride?

It had never existed; or if it had, it had been a shield (and a very poor one) against reality. He'd been living in a made-up world, a made-up world where nothing could go wrong. That world had shattered in sixth year. But he'd still foolishly tried to put it back together like a child's puzzle. And that was what he was, he thought bitterly. A crying child. He might as well have been the boy eaten by the Manticore.

"Ferret?"

He remembered that he was in a hallway filled with other people. Thoroughly embarrassed, he got to his knees, using the wall for support - but he found he was shaking too hard to get to his feet.

A soft hand grabbed his elbow and helped him up. He smelled the scent of a far-away lilac.

He couldn't see who the hand belonged to because his eyes were covered so completely with blurry water. He saw red hair, brown eyes, green eyes, more red hair, and dark skin. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he attempted to back away, to get away from there, the humiliation of being seen like that simply after watching nothing more than a child being eaten, something he'd laugh at three years ago. But he was trembling so badly he could barely move, and he ended up falling completely backwards.

His head hit the floor and for a few seconds, the world was black.

And then his sight returned, still extremely blurry, and shapes were looming over him, a little clearer to see now, to distinguish.

He whipped out his wand. "_Obliviate_," he gurgled through the thick blockage in his throat.

He saw everyone lost focus for a few moments; just enough time to leap to his feet and begin running.

He hoped he'd done the theory correctlly. Think of exactly what you want them to forget, and then try and forget it yourself while saying the spell. That should do the trick.

But soon, he heard them waking up and finding themselves in different positions than they remembered, but he was already out of sight. He wiped the tears angrily away from his eyes, not caring if his hands got wet this time, so he could see as he crashed into the door to the Room of Requirement.

He forgot about the common room enchantment, and paced in front of it three times, thinking, '_I need to be totally alone, I need to be totally alone, I need to be totally alone._'

And when he looked, there was the door to the Prefect common room.

He gave a strangled cry, but leapt into it anyway, praying for solitude.

But of course there was none. The Abbot girl was lurking just inside the door. "Malfoy?" she asked, clearly surprised to see that the Slytherin goody-boy had run into privacy (or so he'd hoped) crying.

"_Obliviate_."

And then he made a break for the boys' dormitory, closing the door just as she awoke and saw she was once again alone.

He fell onto his bed and tried to be as quiet as possible, letting himself relieve everything and letting himself sob into his pillow, hoping she wouldn;t hear him in the next room. but he found he needed to be loud - he wasn't getting everything out quietly. He pointed his wand at the door. "_Muffliato_," he whispered.

And then an idea occurred to him.

He pointed the wand at his face and thought of the memory. Forced himself to re-watch her being swallowed, weeping, screaming, bleeding, dying -

"_Obliviate_," he whispered.

The white light echoed around his head, clearing some things. He felt like he was being torn from everything. Torn from life itself...

No, life was being torn from him... and it hurt, very badly...

He gave a cry for help as he slid off the bed and his wand clattered to the floor.

* * *

There was nothing but a bright light. Nothing but a bright light, and that was all. There was nothing more. Nothing more...

* * *

"Mr. Malfoy, wake up!" someone begged him. "Stop, stop, wake up!"

He fluttered his eyelids open to see Madame Pomfrey staring at him, eyes as wide as they could be, her hand on her chest to steady her heart, her face one of the palest he'd ever seen.

"What?" he demanded.

"You... you were..." she looked ready to pass out. "You were screaming... about M-Miss Parkinson..."

"It's alright," he said, but his cringed at the name. "I tend to have nightmares."

"Mister Malfoy," she said, attempting to calm herself. "This was... I have... never... do you know what you were even _saying_?"

"No idea," he said truthfully, trying to be cheerful, just so he could fool himself into thinking he was.

"You were... you were saying, 'L-leave her b-be, it's my faut, kill me t-too'..."

Draco lost all feeling, all emotion. "I wish he had," he said darkly, closing his eyes again.


	8. Chapter 8

"We haven't got our schedules yet," complained Hermione. "When will we get to go to our classes?"

"You would complain about that," laughed Harry.

"I wonder why Ferret ran away like that," mused Ginny lightly. "I think he was crying."

Ron laughed. "Crying? I don't think so. Not from the almighty, I'm-a-fu-"

"Ron!"

"-nny-little-pureblood Malfoy," he corrected his language when Hermione had scolded him. He smiled sheepishly, and looked out on the lake. The water sparkled like diamonds, and it was smooth with the lack of wind - but here and there, you saw a ripple, either from a merperson, the squid or just a fish. Hermione disliked the idea of things below the surface, as she'd once seen Idla Haiman dragged under, kicking and screaming, by an Inferi. While she'd tried to stop it, it wouldn't let go of her; and she couldn't try anything to dangerous, because she might have hit Idla. This memory burned her eyes, and she thought she could see it happening again...

But then it was just the lake, and she was surrounded blissfully by her friends and boyfriend. She smiled, making herself think of a happier memory; when the Durmstrang ship had come out of the lake.

"Does anybody know what schools are coming?" Harry asked idly, leaning back into the tree they were under.

"Not a clue," said Ron. "I hear Kingsley won't even tell Mcgonagall."

"Really?" Hermione was surprised by this.

"It'll probably be only seventh or eigth-year students," said Ginny wsiely. "They're the only ones old enough to participate."

"Probably," Hermione agreed, nodding and leaning into Ron, letting his hand smooth over her bushy hair, letting his body warmth seep into hers. She closed her eyes, completely at ease, completely comfortable.

Harry gasped and her eyes flew open again.

And she saw skeletal figures, black, with milky white eyes and large wings bolded to its torso, its horse-like body bent downward, getting a drink from the lake.

"Harry - is that -"

"You can see them now, huh?" he asked slowly in response to hermione's unfinished question. "They're quite gentle, Hermione, you know that."

"Wow," said Ginny, slightly breathless. "They're sort of pretty."

Ron stared at the thestrals, and Hermione had to nudge him to get him to say something.

"We should have been able to see them back in fifth year, though, right?" he asked. "We'd seen Moddy kill the spider, right in front of us."

"Significant death, Ron," said Hermione, and when he looked confused, "You have to have seen a death significant to you. Neville could see them because to him, the death of the spider was significant, because in his mind's eyes he'd just re-seen his parents being tortured again when Moody performed the Cruiatus curse on it. The spider wasn't important to you - in fact, knowing your arachnophobia, you probably wanted it dead - so you couldn't see them then. But after..."

Hermione was not going to continue, as Ron's face had become as hard as stone.

"I hate them," he said suddenly, ferociously, startling Hermione and making Harry and Ginny jump. "I wouldn't be able to see them if Fred was still here. They're just... if he was... but he's... not..."

"I doub that," said Hermione, trying to put a positive spin on things. "You'd be able to see them anyway. You watched Colin Creevey die, right?"

Ron's face twisted into a mocking smile. "Like that's so much better," he snorted, shifting abruptly so she was lying on the ground instead of on him. she gave an _umph_ as her head connected with the earth, and watched his feet walk away. She sighed. Harry sighed. Ginny sighed.

"It's not their fault you can only see them if you've seen death," said Harry softly. "They're actually sweet."

"I wonder what they're doing all the way out here," said Ginny in a whisper.

Hermione silently agreed, and they continued to stare as another thestral joined the one already drinking.

And then Luna and Neville were suddenly at their sides. "Hello," said Luna brightly. "Admiring the thestrals?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"No," said Hermione.

"Somewhat," said Ginny.

Hermione looked closer at the hands of Luna and Neville. She could have sworn she'd seen something glitter -

"Oh my!" she squealed, sitting bolt upright, taking Luna's hand and staring at the ring finger, which now held a sparkling gold band.

Neville laughed. "Noticed, have you?"

"What?" Ginny demanded. "What is..." she saw the ring. "Oh, Luna, Neville, this is great!"

Harry was last to spot the ring. "You're getting married?" he asked, as if he'd never heard of such a thing before. "But you're so young..."

Neville shrugged. "Young or old, whatever I may be, I want to be it with Luna."

Luna smiled and out her head on Neville's shoulder. "Isn't he sweet?" she said, in her dream-like voice.

And she began to cough rather forcefully. She bent forward, coughing loudly, and Neville held her shoulder, anxiety clear on his face. But when she was done, they both acted as if nothing had happened, and Luna continued with, "He was very original with his proposal, too."

"How'd he propose?" asked Hermione eagerly.

Neville blushed. "Well, I actually had the whole thing planned out, you see, but it kind of got a little messed up."

"What happened?" asked Ginny.

"We were researching Nargles," said Luna earnestly (Hermione and Harry riased their eyebrows, but stayed silent). "And he got us our books to look for them, but he got me the wrong book, and you see, Madame Pince came along and picked the right book out of the shelf."

"She was furious," laughed Neville. "I'd taken my own book and carved a little hole into it, and put the ring in there with a note that asked if she'd marry me, and she called me an imbecile, refused the proposal, and tried to charge me for destruction of my own book."

"I was slightly confused as to why he'd asked her to marry him," said Luna. "But when he explained, I understood."

"And she said yes," said Neville.

Hermione felt a pang of jealousy. She knew for certain that she wasn't ready for marriage yet, but she'd wish Ron would be more of a romantic.

"And got great information on Nargles," Luna finished.

Ginny laughed. "How cute," she awarded the story. "But why now?"

"What do you mean?" asked Neville, confused.

"Why now?" she repeated. "Why not wait? You've got loads of time ahead of you, there's nothing to make you rush anymore."

Neville once again shrugged. "See, we don't actually know that we've got loads of time," he said. "You never know what tomorrow might bring."

"It might bring more Nargles," said Luna brightly. "That would be great, wouldn't it?"

"It would," Neville agreed.

"Ooh, look," said Luna, pointing across the lake. "I think that tree looks like the hind leg of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

Neville looked. "Which one?"

"The glowing one," she said simply.

"The glowing one?" said Harry and Hermione at the same time, looking over the lake.

Sure enough, behind the thestrals was a particularly thick tree - the individual leaves on it were outlined with a silvery sort of halo-like light that soon spread over the entire tree.

And out stepped a short wizard, maybe two feet tall, almost completely covered in overly-large spice-brown robes. He waved to them, and stepped to the side.

Harry waved back uncertainly, but Ginny got to her feet.

"Come on," she said, "Let's go see who that is."

But as she spoke, several boys and girls roughly their ages began to march out of the tree and around the man, all wearing robes of the exact same spice-brown, all carrying what looked to be staffs. Maybe fifty came out of the tree, but Ginny had begun to pull Harry along, who, in turn, pulled Hermione. The chain they'd created not on purpose traveled along the bank of the lake until it reached the thestrals and the people crowding around them.

"Вы можете их увидеть?"

"Да, я могу."

"Мне очень жаль."

"Я не могу."

"Xорошо!"

"They're speaking Russian," said Hermione, recognizing the language.

"Where are they fr-" began Ginny.

"Hello," said the short wizard, who appeared to be the Headmaster. "I'm Professor Murble, from Cabaronn School of Sorcery. I'm here with my eligible students for the Triwizard Tournament. And you'd be Harry Potter, correct?"

All the conversations of the students stopped when the Headmaster said Harry's name.

"I am," replied Harry.

The Headmaster held out his hand. "It's simply marvelous to meet you," he said. "So, will you be participating in the Tournament?"

"No, thank you," said Harry politely. "Given what happened last time, I'd rather not take any chances."

The Headmaster nodded. "Very wise," he agreed, "very wise indeed."

Someone tapped Hermione's shoulder.

She turned to face Ron, who took her hand. Confused, she let him take her away from the conversation, back to the tree they'd been under minutes ago (Luna and Neville had gone), so she couldn't hear the rest of the conversation between the other school and Harry and Ginny.

"What?" she asked.

Ron looked seriously scared.

"What, Ron?" beginning to fear herself, though not knowing what of. "What is it?"

He glanced over her shoulder.

"Is it the thestrals?"

He shook his head. No.

"The students?"

"No."

"What?"

He seemed to be struggling. Hermione waited.

"It's over," he blurted out, finally speaking, glancing down at his shoes.

"What is?" asked Hermione, confused. "he war? I know, Ronald, I -"

"No," he muttered. "We. Us. We're over."

Hermione let it sink in.

She had to remind herself to breathe. She had to remind herself not to cry. She had to remind herself to blink, so not stare, to not gape, to not beg forgiveness for whatever she'd done.

"Why?" she whispered, so her voice wouldn't break.

Ron looked up. "Oh, Hermione, it's not you, I swear," he said. "I'm mourning, and I just can't take a relationship right now. I swear, it's all me."

Hermione wiped at her eyes, immensely relieved none of it was her fault. So he needed some time off. But...

"Was I really that clingy?" she asked.

"No, Hermione, you were perfect -"

"Then why won't you let me help you through this?" she asked, her voice coming out embarrassingly pleading.

He looked like someone was slitting his throat. "I need to heal on my own, Hermione," he said. "And when I'm okay with... everything... we can be together. I promise."

"But what if you don't heal?" Hermione said. "What if I die next?"

Ron blanched. "You won't," he murmured. "There's nothing to kill you now."

Hermione nodded. "Okay. I'm... okay. I get it."

Ron looked like she'd felt when he'd said it wasn't her fault. "You do?"

She nodded again, and then moved into hug him. He hesitated before wrapping his arms around her waist in return.

"I love you," she reminded him. She pulled away, patting him on the shoulder. "Take as long as you need. I'll always be here."

He nodded, grateful now.

And then Hermione took a deep breath and headed back to Harry, while Ron strode toward the castle. The setting sun seemed to glare at her, making her head spin and ache, making her quiver, making her feel absolutely dull in comparison to the natural beauty around her.

She could hear a conversation going on ahead of her, and she heard Mcgonagall's voice greeting Mr. Murble, but she was having trouble concentrating. She _hated_ when that happened.

And then Ginny was walking up to her. "Did he do it?" she asked softly.

Hermione nodded and managed not to cry. She smiled a watery smile.

"It's okay to cry," Ginny said.

Hermione nodded again. "I know."

But she didnt cry. Not even when Harry heard the news; not when people whispered at her over dinner; not when Ron didn't show up for the food or the girls from the other school. She didnt cry until she was safely tucked into bed that night, and she felt soft hands pat her back and knew Ginny was knealing beside her, comforting her, and she cried into her would-be sister-in-law's shoulder.


	9. Chapter 9

The arrival of the new school went basically unnoticed in all the confusion - it was nothing like the grand entrances of the schools the last time, so nobody really talked about it. What people did talk about, though, was that Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley had split up. Nobody thought about Draco, alone in the hospital wing on just the second day, staying overnight for the third. His memory charm had backfired, but not badly; he'd been focusing hard enough to limit it to just the opinionated part of his brains - he could scarcely remember what any of his opinions were. He remembered the encounters, and certain feelings, such as despair and, dare he say it, love, but his opinions on those matters he had to re-create by re-living them, which was definitely hard in some places, like when Snape had killed Dumbledore and hearing Weaslette, Weasley and Granger scream Potter's name.

He remembered everyone's blood status and what he'd thought of it, but he couldn't figure out for the life of him why he'd thought that. Just because you have Muggles for parents didn't mean you'd have any lesser ability to cast spells - look at Granger. Top of the class, best of the year, whatever you wanted to call her, and look at someone like Crabbe or Goyle - bottom of the class and stupid as hell. Blood traitors were something he didn't remember having an opinion on, either.

He wondered whether he'd ever actually had opinions, or if he'd been given opinions to assume were his.

The blandness of the hospital wing was depressing, and Madame Pomfrey seemed terrified of him now. Every time he fell asleep, he saw her watching him from the corner of her eye. He knew she wanted more details about his 'nightmares' but he wasn't going to give her any. Why should he, when he's been literally trying to forget it?

He was released the next day, and headed straight for the common room.

He'd been alone in the hospital wing for too long, and he knew that, even though it hadn't even been a full twenty-four hours. But he wasn't expecting the hoard of seventh and eighth-grade students from both Hogwarts and somewhere else (_Where the hell are these kids from?_ he wondered) flocking at the door, unable to get in. At the sight of him, someone cried, "It's Head Boy!" and they all scattered. Confused by this, opening the prefect common-room door, he saw nobody.

Except Granger.

She was sitting directly in front of the fireplace, curled up in a loose fetal position, apparently asleep. Her hair looked dark and wet; her skin looked shiny; she'd apparently just taken a bath. She looked almost angelic, just laying there, the flames reflecting off of her face, dancing, making her look fiery, that Draco felt it was almost a crime to move her.

He bent down next to her and shook her shoulder gently. "Granger," he crooned. "Granger, you've got to move. You can't be comfortable there, go to bed."

It was the middle of the day - everyone had to be at lunch. She barely stirred at his attempt to awaken her gently and gave a small, delicate snore. Draco chuckled and changed tactics. He picked her up, baby-doll style, into his arms and began to carry her toward the girls' dormitory. She was comfortable in his arms, very warm from the fire, and so small, like a perfect little child; but she radiated anything but immaturity. Even in sleep, she had a silent authority nobody could mess with.

He knew immediately which room was hers when he entered the dorm. Beside it were huge stacks of books, sorted by subject, then importance, and then alphabetically. He smiled a little at her almost obsessive-compulsive need to sort and placed her gently on the bed.

As soon as her head hit the pillow, Draco turned to leave.

"Don't leave," she pleaded.

He whirled around, surprised by her words and by her tone. Why would she want him to stay, and why would she beg? And she was asleep, how was she talking? Her eyelids fluttered, but her breathing returned to normal.

A little worried, Draco turned to leave again.

"Take the locket off, you wouldn't be saying this if you had the locket off," she argued against someone invisible.

Locket? What locket? Draco once again spun around, only to see her shift in her bed.

"Ron, don't go," she begged the air, reaching out an arm like a scared child to their mothers' skirt, but her fingers grasped nothing.

"Please," she whispered. "You won't think like this if you take it off, just give it to me, I'll wear it until we find the sword -"

So she was dreaming of Weasley. That made a little more sense. But what was this locket thing, and why would Weasley be better of without it? And what sword?

"Don't go," she cried, reaching out again, trying to grab someone who wasn't there.

Draco was once again close to tears. Closing the few feet of distance, he caught Granger's hand in midair and held it there, feeling his cold fingers against hers.

Her eyelids fluttered all the way open, and her breath stuttered. "Harry?" she asked drowsily, obviously not seeing clearly.

"No, it's Draco," he whispered, but she'd already fallen back asleep after intertwining her fingers with his.

He was unsure how long he stayed there, but it was long enough for Weaslette to enter the dorm.

"What are you doing here, ferret?" she asked. "You're supposed to be welcoming the Russians."

"Is that where they're from?" asked Draco in a whisper, so as to not wake up Granger.

"Yeah, were've you been?" she asked.

And then she saw his hand and Granger's. Marble and sand, they seemed to fit together perfectly, their palms not sticky, not sweaty, but Draco's fingers were always cold; hers were not - in fact, he was beginning to think everything about her was warm. But he dropped it as she saw their temperatures twisted into one hand. Granger's arm fell, but she did not waken.

"What was that?" asked Weaslette, brittle.

"She was asleep on the floor," Draco defended, "so I brought her in here."

"And held her hand." It was a slight accusation.

"She thought I was Weasley at first, and then Potter."

Weaslette rolled her eyes. "Great. So, she's having a threesome in her dream. Great to know, now get out."

"No, it's not like that," said Draco. "When she was dreaming, she was trying to convince Ron - I mean Weasley - not to leave, saying something about a locket and a sword, and then she woke up and thought I was Potter, and then fell back asleep."

"I thought that would happen," sighed Ginny. "He's left her twice now, she can't stop thinking that she's not good enough. Now._ Get out_."

And she shoved him out the door.

"Left her twice? What do you mean?" Draco asked, but the door slammed closed in his face, the wind of it brushing against his open lips.

Draco leaned toward the door, pressing his ear against it, but heard nothing except footsteps of Weaslette. And then Granger shrieked, "_No_! No, Harry, _HARRY_!"

"Hermione, wake up," Weaslette cried, anxiety marring her normally smooth voice. "It's okay, wake up!"

"Harry!" Granger shrieked again. "He can't be dead, no, Ron, stop, don't, _Harry_!"

"Hermione, _wake up_!"

There was rustling and Draco imagined Granger sitting bolt upright in bed. There was a strangled gasp that reminded him painfully of Pansy, and then Granger was panting.

"Ginny," she said.

"What were you dreaming about?" Ginny asked Hermione. "You were screaming about Harry being dead..."

"I was remembering... when _he_ came here, and Hagrid was carrying him -"

"Stop."

Ginny's voice sounded almost like someone had put her through the wringer. Draco felt immense pity for her.

More rustling. Draco thought that Hermione was probably hugging the red-head, because she said comfortingly, "But he's alive, Gin, he's fine, and Voldemort's gone."

"Holy cricket; Hermione, look out the window!"

"Oh my. That would be the other school, wouldn't it?"

Draco pulled away from the door and headed straight for the window in the common room. He peered out the glass panes into the sunny grounds below, and saw none other than a group of maybe three hundred boys and girls their age trooping across toward the grounds. They wore light pants, usually jeans but some khakis, and white button-down t-shirts. Most of them had trunks floating above their heads.

He really didn't care about that, so he went back to the door.

"I'm not a bad person, right?" Hermione was asking,

Draco felt the urge to tell her she was a magnificent person, but stayed silent.

"You've got flaws," said Ginny, "but you're not bad. You're a chaotically good person that's lived through too many bad things, is all."

"But then Ron is too," Hermione said. "And why should -"

"Everybody deals with pain differently," said Ginny. "Some people, like me, try and turn it into something that strengthens their relationships with others, or, in my case, Harry. Ron was never much for expressing anything but jealousy and anger. He tends to bottle it up until it explodes out of him, and then he's fine again."

"So I have to wait until he's exploded?"

"Yep."

There was silence.

"You know, you're Head Girl, you should be welcoming the new schools."

"Ah. right," Hermione said.

Footsteps.

Draco pushed away from the door and toward the exit of the room, making it into the throng of males outside the room before the girls saw him; the males scattered once more, and Draco decided to test something.. He hid behind a suit of armor, and when Hermione opened the door, the hoarde returned.

"Is it true you and Weasley broke up?" shouted a Hogwarts boy.

"Yes." She looked completely taken aback. "What does it matter?"

The questions were shouted.

"Do you want to go for a drink?"

"No thank you."

"Want to take a fly with me?"

"I don't like flying, thanks."

More questions were yelled, making her take a step back as she tried to deflect them and everyone got closer to her.

"OI!" Ginny shouted. "Leave the Head Girl be, you nitwits, she needs food!"

"I'll take her out to eat," someone shouted.

Draco watched in fascination and stepped out from behind the suit of armor.

"Draco," said Hermione, surprised.

The males shouted profanities at him for interrupting their bombard on Hermione. He raised his eyebrows.

"That'll be detention for every one of you, then," he said.

They shut up immediately and dispersed, giving him angry looks.

"Thanks." Draco hadn't noticed that Hermione had gotten so close, but she walked right past him, her shoulder brushing his, sending a spark of her warmth down his spine. "Now we'd better go greet the other school."

She walked on, and Draco realized something: he'd begun thinking of them as Ginny and Hermione instead of Weaslette and Granger. He shook his head, determined to fix that, and followed the two girls.


	10. Chapter 10

Draco looked around him and immediately wished he hadn't.

All the eyes on him were glaring, curiously fascinated or disgusting; he wasn't sure which expression hurt more. Disgusted - even he was, so he could understand that. The glares he'd been expecting, but the curiosity was putrid. How could anyone be curious about his left arm, where more of the eyes were trained? How could anyone be fascinated by magic so dark it permanently branded something that moved on your arm? How many Dark wizards needed their own Mark? Grindelwald, Draco excepted, but Voldemort was truly one of a kind. 'Lord' Voldemort, preaching about pure-bloods and how much better they were than anybody else, being a half-blood himself. Not like Potter, who was counted as a half-blood because his mum had had Muggles for parents; an honest-to-God half-blood, whose mother had run away with the Muggle boy. He'd killed his father, taken his bones unwillingly to bring himself back into a humanoid form of existence; whenever you hear about the Super Villians in any of the storybooks read to the younger children, they always had some sort of tortured past that made them turn bad, ad you could always empathize if not sympathize. Voldemort's mum had died at childbirth, yes, but she'd loved him - his father had left, yes, but he never should have gone to begin with. That part of his past was slightly bad, but nobody could account for what he later became, and forced others to mimic. Aunt Bellatrix, his father, his mother, Uncle Rodolphus... him...

And now the world saw him as either a sign of what should have been or what shouldn't have. His left arm was forever the part people would gasp at, point at, stare at. He was the odd one out on this stage where all the prefects stood, and he looked utterly vile next to Hermione, who beamed at everyone as though nothing was the matter, althouh Draco knew that she was crying inside. Hermione was never very tough. Brave, yes, passionate, yes, but not tough. She could withstand a lot, but that was because of passion for living, not simple toughnes; she could take anyone down, but that was due to her brains and bravery, not her toughness. She was always soft, cried a lot. Although, thought Draco bitterly, given recent events, crying seemed almost mandatory. He'd cried enough lately, he'd done it plenty at home. Probably lost about ten pounds with all the crying he'd done since the Battle of Hogwarts.

The other schools were the worst when it came to his arm, but Hogwarts was just as bad. He wondered why he'd been named Head Boy. He was a terrible person, nobody ever thought to tell him differently or deny it when it came up. He was the odd one out up here. He'd be better placed in the dungeons. The D.A. members had become all chummy with the other Slytherin prefects. They laughed and talked and smiled at one another as if there was no barrier between them... as if there never had been.

Forgiveness was never one of Draco's strong points. He knew for a fact that it was one of Hermione's. Yet another reason he should be hiding in a closet, away from everyone. But their eyes continued to burn a hole through his left arm, causing him to hide it behind his torso.

Hermione saw the movement and frowned.

Nobody expected her next move.

She grabbed his left wrist and held it above their heads, almost as if declaring the winner of something. Everyone fell silent. Draco was tired of silence. The word in his head was brought into being too often; loud and noisy was when he was forgotten, so it was when he was happy. But this year had brought nothing but silence and quiet, when most people would break it with whispers and glances at his thin sleeve, which they could usually see the ink through. But they saw it clear as day now, no sleeve to hide it, as it had slipped down to his elbow. The snake came out of the skull, but was frozen. It hadn't moved since _that_ night. People hissed, but mostly they waited for her speech. Everyone knew it was coming, she had that air about her one did when about to address a large crowd.

"You all see this tattoo."

It wasn't a question.

"When you see this tattoo, you see the Dark Mark."

Again, it was no question.

"As of the night Voldemort died - oh, for Merlin's sake, he's dead, stop wincing - this is just a tattoo for people who made mistakes."

Utter pandemonium.

People screamed futiley at her, at him, people threw articles of clothing, or textbooks, or ink bottle, or quills, and a rather large shoe hit Draco's right temple. But Hermione was unphazed. She opened her mouth, and Draco realized she was to resume speaking.

"Shut up, Mudblood!" someone in the crowd yelled.

The effect was immediate.

Potter and Weasley whipped out their wands and pointed them at the crowd. Weasley's didn't seem to intimidate too many people, but Potter's shut them all up. Of course, the Boy who Lived 7 Time In a Row, or the Chosen One, or whatever they called him now, would threaten them enough. But every person on the stage but Hermione and himself had also pulled out their wands in response.

"You will _never_ call her that again!" roared Potter.

"Everyone put their wands away," ordered McGonagall.

Very few people did. Potter kept his out.

"Harry," Hermione whispered, "You'll get a detention. Prefects aren't supposed to get detentions."

"Do I care?" he yelled. "They will never call you that again!"

"I _am_ a Mudblood, Harry," she whispered.

Had consistent drilling from everyone have her actually believing she had dirty blood running through her veins? They were purer than his, he knew that for certain. She was a ure creature.

"You are a Muggle-born," Potter corrected her through clenched teeth. "There is nothing filthy about your blood."

"Perhaps Draco would like to disagree?" yelled someone in the crowd. "Maybe he'd like to say something he's said on previous occassions before? Maybe he'd like to say 'filthy Mu-"

"I said never to call her that again! _Petrif_-"

"_Protego_."

Draco had cast the shield spell, and watched as Potter faltered uneasily.

"See?" the person yelled. "He still thinks that, he's still the-"

"I do not think that," said Draco quietly. "I just didn't want any of _your_ filthy blood making Potter so angry he ruined his _own_ blood by killing you. He's killed the Darkest wizard of all time, you know."

Nobody knew how to respond. Hermione cleared her throat again, simultaneously pushing Harry's wand down to his side.

"He has screwed up his life," she continued, as if nothing had happened. "He has messed up time and time again. He's made awful choices, done awful things. But he is one of many who were being controlled by fear."

"If Voldemort had - oh, for the sake of Saint Mefburdel, _give it a rest with the wincing_ - tortured you what would you do?"

"Died instead of do what he's done!" yelled someone else.

There were nods and murmurs of agreement.

"Fine," said Hermione. "What if he threatened to torture your family?"

"I've no family left thanks to him!"

More nods and murmurs.

"So you're angry at Voldemort, not Draco," said Potter.

No agreement. "He's just as evil -"

"_Just as evil_?"

And then Hermione broke into a fit of laughter. Potter soon joined her, and Weaslette after a moment of hesitation. Weasley joined after that, and soon, all the prefects were laughing. He couldn't suppress a chuckle either.

"I'm sorry," said Hermione, wiping tears from her eyes (in a good way, Draco noted), "But you actually think he's just as evil as Voldemort?"

"Yes."

Another fit of laughter.

"Nobody is as evil as Voldemort," Potter laughed. "Voldemort was so twisted, so warped, that nobody could ever - be - as - evil - as... him!" he doubled over laughing.

"His followers are just as -"

"Nobody is as evil as Voldemort!"

Shouting. Draco thought he'd like it before, but now it seemed worse than silence. The laughter had died down. He noted dully that Hermione's arm holding his lowered by a fraction of an inch any time somebody spoke. He scrutinized the fact carefully, and began to pull away.

she didn't stop him.

Potter continued.

"How much yelling will it take?" he shouted. "He is dead! His followers are being rounded up! This boy has been through more than even I have, because he knew and loved his family and had to kill someone to save it! Kill someone! All I had to do was die, which is a hell of a lot easier than killing someone!"

"Language, Mr. Potter," McGonagall reminded dryly.

He ignored her. "That Dark Mark on his arm is a symbol of strength! He was able to withstand the torture of having it basically carved into his arm, just for his loved ones!"

"The Malfoys don't love," someone argued weakly.

"Excuse me?" Draco asked, pulling his arm completely out of Hermione's grasp.

"Don't," she warned him.

"The Malfoys don't love?"

He wasn't sure who said it, so he addressed the whole crowd.

"My father was a cruel biggot who thought himself and his family above others. Notice: _his_ _family_. If there was one thing he loved, it was his family. My mother was a mean snob who thought herself and her family above others. Notice: _her_ _family_. If there was one thing she loved, it was her family."

"So no, I didn't grow up with the perfect parents. No, I didnt have the greatest love in the world. But he threatened to murder me and make them watch unless they joined. So they did. And then he threatened to murder them and make me watch if I didn't join. It's a one-way system. You care too much about the people you love, flawed as they are, and he fed himself on that love, even by ruining it, because he didn't have any."

"We Malfoys don't love? It's one step from Malfoys to Slytherins, and then the rest of your are prejudiced and stereotyping one group of people. So you've fought this war against the people who discriminate against others. And then you turn around and do it right back. This hypocrisy is the slimiest, filthiest, most digusting, vile and putrescent thing I've ever seen, and believe me, I've seen a lot of things that fit that description."

"This mark on my arm shows I loved my family and I was going to save them, no matter what I had to do. This mark on my arm is my tattoo of love. So suck my -"

"Mr. Malfoy," warned McGonagall.

"- Great Aunt Marie's dirty socks if you think the Malfoys don't love."

He didn't wait to see how his speech was recieved. He turned and strode out of the hall, not caring about the Welcoming ceremony anymore. He wasn't going to participate in the games, so why should he be there to the idiots who wanted the chance? And if that wasn't 'Head Boy' behavior, so what? She should've appointed someone else Head Boy anyway.

"Ferret."

Draco paused, hearing Ginny behind him. "What?"

"You did well in there," she said. "I can see why you're Head Boy."

"Really? Because I can't."

"You got through to them when we couldn't," she explained. "That's something you have to believe in, and while we do, you seem to have experienced more than -"

"Stop. I'm not taking pity compliments."

He could sense her growing anger. "Stop moping and feeling sorry for yourself. You're lucky your parents aren't going to Azka -"

"They are."

"There was no trial date in the papers."

"There will be tomorrow."

Silence once again reigned. Draco was really starting to hate people in general, because they always made him feel compressed.

"It wasn't a pity compliment," Ginny said at last. "You did really well in there. Walking out didn't help, though."

Ah, so she'd finally put it in balance again. "I'm not much for helping."

"Right."

He began to walk again.

"I'm sorry about your parents," she called after him.

He paused again. "I'm sorry about Fred," he called back softly, walking on as if nothing had happened, though he could see, without any use of imagination, that she looked something like a Dementor's victim of a Kiss - standing there, shell-shocked.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day they got their schedules.

Hermione beamed at hers, and then at Professor McGonagall, who seemed to find it immensely amusing that the Head Girl was the only one not groaning with the amount of classes - and she hadn't gotten all she'd wanted. But she was pleased with her classes, as they had all be useful last year. The school not only still offered Ancient Runes, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology and Potions, but they now offered Healing and Observation, which was a class devoted to be able to recognize the very last remnant of Dark Magic and how to extinguish it, weak or powerful. It, too, was taught by the new professor. Hermione, against her better judgement, had left herself one free period. She'd need to do her homework at some point, after all. She leaned over and looked at Harry's.

She grinned. "We have Defense together," she said happily.

Harry laughed. "And pretty much everything else but Healing and Observation."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "You're not taking Observation?"

But she saw it on his list. She looked at him, confused.

"Hermione," he said, slightly exasperated, "that class is offered at a regular and advanced level. They put you in advanced."

"But you're already better at it than I am!" she exclaimed. "Why are you taking regular?"

Harry leaned in closer. "So I can help Ron," he murmured quietly.

Hermione's smile slipped a few degrees, but she quickly regained her composure and nodded. "I can't wait to meet the new professor," she said enthusiastically.

But they had Potions first, and they had it with the Ravenclaws (seventh and eighth year, as the two years were there to learn the same things). They poured through the doors and selected their seats - Hermione and Ron sat on either side of Harry, as was custom. Harry's hands were gripped tightly on his Advanced Potion Making book, which had the old cover he'd given it back in sixth year. Hermione smirked slightly. I served him right, having to abide by the actual book as the last one had been destroyed in the Fiendfyre curse last year. No more marks he didn't deserve, oh no, she thought happily. She'd be top of the class once more.

Professor Slughorn was already behind his desk. "Hello, Harry, Miss Granger," he greeted brightly. "Mr. Weasley."

Ron looked absolutely dumbfounded that his name had been remembered by the collector of fame; and then remembered he was a third of the Golden Trio, and puffed his chest out proudly. "Sir," he greeted back.

Slughorn nodded and turned back to Harry. "Have a good summer, my boy?"

Harry nodded. "Fantastic," he said. "It was fantastic."

"Good!" said Slughorn. "Some more alone time with Miss Weasley, I presume?"

Ron's chest deflated and he looked disagreeable; Harry's face turned tomato-red. "Yes, sir," he said quietly.

A few scattered people laughed, Neville, in the back of the room, being one of them.

Slughorn turned to him. "Mr. Longbottom, how was your summer?"

"Great," he said earnestly. "Gran really likes Luna, and I - well, it wasn't over the summer, but... um, never mind."

Slughorn looked bemused. "What is it, my boy?"

Neville looked sheepish. "It's not important."

"Oh, Neville," said Hermione. She turned to the professor. "He's engaged," she said loudly, "to Luna Lovegood."

The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors alike sent up a raucous cheer, watching as Neville laughed to hide his embarrassment.

Slughorn congratulated Neville, who looked at his feet and thanked the people patting him on the back and giving their appraisal, and leaned toward Harry. "No more written-in books, Mr. Potter?" he said quietly.

Harry smiled wryly. "No, sir," he said. "Just me and what little aptitude I have."

Slughorn laughed and leaned back. "I'm sure you have more than a little aptitude, my boy," he said.

It was then that he pulled a rather large flask out of his drawer. Suspicious eyes turned to it quizzically, but he laughed them away, saying, "It's a potion, not a drink!"

Everyone murmured their understanding, and waited for him to continue.

"This is, actually, a flask filled with Illecebrosusria, a potion which -"

"Deems the user attractive to others, regardless of appearance," Hermione finished for him, "But in the case of this potion, synonyms include either 'beautiful', for appearance, or 'charming', for personality, depending on what they use it for."

"Correct, Miss Granger, ten points to Gryffindor," said Slughorn. "Still incredibly bright, I see."

Hermione blushed fervently.

"What Miss Granger here said is completely right," said Slughorn, "an almost word-for-word definition from your books. Now, this potion is difficult to make, and absolutely catastrophic should you get it wrong and drink it. Can anyone tell me what happ-"

"The user can either be dissolved instantly, upon the spot, or can physically and mentally deteriorate within a few minutes," said Hermione.

"Gruesome," muttered Ron.

"That is, of course, if they were completely depending on it, or if they're insecure. If they've had the proper potion before in their lives, or if they're proud of themselves and simply wanted a bit on unneeded help, they'll be rendered insane, and stay physically intact."

She sent an apologetic look to Neville, who looked severely uncomfortable, whilst Slughorn agreed whole-heartedly with her.

"And so, will everyone please turn to page eighty-seven, and the best Fire-Resistant Oil Solution will win my friend here. Go!"

The room was filled with sounds of chatter as students spoke to each other and held conversations while they made their potions. Hermione opened her book and began to make the solution.

She frowned.

The ingredient table called for disproportionate amounts of the ingredients. The amount of Sprite urine was for a 'batch' size of six and the amount of match heads for for a size of nine. She took a sheet of paper out of her notebook and began writing.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked her.

"Fixing the instructions," she said.

Harry shook his head. "Like Snape did?"

She paused, and then angrily ripped the paper in two. "But I'm not writing it in the book," she said defiantly, "and I'm not putting in spells that seriously hurt people!"

Harry was the one smirking this time. She turned back to the recipe.

Fine. She wouldn't write it down, but she wasn't going to stand by the wrong instructions this gave. She found twenty-four match heads, not twenty-seven, and twelve cups of Sprite urine, and dumped them in the cauldron. She looked again. It called for half of a dried dragon bladder. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, but found one, and began to squeeze, as the instructions said. Dust-like clusters floated into the potion, making it turn dark red and bubble. The smell was disgusting. But she noticed that she'd already added the amount for a size of nine, while she'd done the size six for the others - she cursed under her breath, added three more match heads and another six cups of Sprite urine. The color lightened considerably, but turned brown, and began to steam instead of bubble. She knew that was a god sign. She stirred it three times to the left and then once to the right, noticing it began to turn a sickly shade of green. Her frown deepened and she felt the smoke of the potion run through her hair, frizzing it. She turned it left three more times; the color returned brown. She turned it right; it returned to green. She raised an eyebrow and left out the right stir, stirring only left. It began to hiss slightly, a sign she was doing it correctly.

Next to he, Harry's potion was bright purple and next to him, Ron's was clear as water - a sign of too much Sprite urine. She smiled.

She found four other imperfections with the potion recipe and managed to work around them. Seamus's potion predictably exploded; Dean's potion was neon green, and kept blinking. Padma Patil's potion was solidifying, like butter - Hermione was the only one doing it right. But Hary's, next to her, was turning as dark and thin as hers; she gave him an odd look.

"Are you copying me?"

He grinned. "Are you following instructions?"

She gave him a look and propped her bag up beside her potion, so it would be harder for him to see, if she kept her motions small.

She spent another sixteen minutes working around the potion, and then sat back just as Slughorn announced time was up. She tried not to ask him to look at hers, as completely pleased as she was with her work. She waited impatiently as he went around, murmuring things like 'You need to improve,' and 'Fantastic, but... we weren't going for a stick of butter...' and was nearly bouncing ut of her seat with anxiety when he reached their table. He dismissed Ron's, rather than criticize it, and looked eagerly into Harry's. "Good, my boy!" he said, pleased.

She glared at Harry.

"But not exactly correct. Let's see here - Miss Granger, yours is -"

He saw it.

"My God, its perfect," he said, eyes wide. "You're not following different instructions, are you, Miss Granger?"

She knew what he meant. "No, sir," she answered honestly. "I fixed the proportion sizes, they were mismatched."

He appeared not to've heard her. "This undoubtedly calls for the potion! amazing, Miss Granger, you've got a natural talent!"

"I'm supposed to, sir," she said, flattered, "I'm Head Girl."

"Yes, yes - take it!" he said, thrusting the potion into her hands and applauding, expecting the room to follow. It did, flamboyantly, with the exception of Harry, who rolled his eyes, and Ron, who stared longingly at her cauldron.

She felt a pang of guilt. She felt like offering to help Ron, but she wasn't sure of their status at the moment - acquaintances, or friends, or bitter ex-lovers. Possibly a combination of all three. She put the potion in her bag and thought about confusing social circumstances. She really hated them. Things would be simpler if their were no enemies and there was no bitterness and there was no jealousy...


	12. Chapter 12

"You shouldn't have done it, Hermione."

"It hurt nobody."

"The only thing that hurt from Snape's book was a spell. The rest was fine, and you called him being better than you at potions evil."

"Harry! I did not!"

"You did -"

"Drop it, mate," Ron advised.

Hermione's chest bubbled with relief. Ron had taken no part in the argument, and hadn't spoken to her, but he'd spoken to a person she was having an argument with in her favor. A woman's imagination is flighty; hers jumped from 'back to acquaintances!' to 'friends again!' to 'back together!' and she could do nothing to stop it. She mentally scolded herself for being so immature as to think it'd be that easy. It'd probably take weeks, but she refused to believe in months - she had to have _some_ hope. She'd have thanked him, but their social situation was still impermanent (maybe he was just tired of hearing them fight and wanted some peace and quiet) and she was too relieved to speak anyway.

Harry folded his lips tightly, but was silent.

The D.A.D.A. classroom was lit as if to please the sunshine itself; it was bright, cheery, and gave the room a warm and comfortable feel. Hermione felt like smiling in the room, filled with the pleasant buzz of the Hufflepuff conversations they'd have to share with the rest of the year - not that they minded in the least. She saw Ginny heading to Herbology out the window that shone on the teacher's desk and saw Harry's tight lips slip to form a dreamy grin. she laughed and whopped him over the head with her textbook. He flinched and gave her a confused look.

"No daydreaming about your best friend's sister," she said breezily, in an almost Luna-like fashion.

"I can't dream about my girlfriend?" said Harry, understanding, grinning broadly, with a tone of false incredulity.

Ron, beside him, laughed with Hermione, and the awkward silence following was almsot non-existent. But not because they got over it; because a third-year burst through the door and called, "Head Girl! Miss Granger!"

"What is it?" she asked kindly.

The third year, who'd seemed slightly frightened but sure of her reaching Hermione, now looked petrified. "Um... Miss Granger -"

"You can call me Hermione," she said, her tone still easy and friendly, open - the third year visibly relaxed.

"Right. Well, Her-mi-on-e," she said, saying the name slowly to make sure she was allowed to say it at all, "my friend Haila was daydreaming and said... things. Things the Headmaster says you shoud deal with," she explained, seeing how Hermione's expression hadn't changed.

It changed when she reached the word 'Headmaster'. She lost the look of honesty and seriousness creased her forehead. "Take me to her," she said.

She turned to Harry. "You'll explain?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Lead the way," she told the girl.

The girl wore an expression mirroring Hermione's as she walked out of the classroom. Murmurs followed them, confused murmurs of her classmates, but they were shut out behind the great doors that closed behind the two.

"What's your name?" asked Hermione as they walked.

"Fay," the girl answered.

"Alright. Fay, what kind of things was she saying?"

The girl had her back turned to her as they walked, but turned around and walked slower, letting Hermione see the fear in her eyes. "Things," she said simply, turning around again and speeding up.

They were apparently headed to Hagrid's hut. The sunlight was out of place wuith the atmosphere that surrounded Hermione as she looked at the class of third years huddling about four feet away from a girl who Hermione thought must be Haila, because she was sobbing and crying, and pointing at the forest. Hagrid himself was sitting beside her, still towering, his bushy beard almost tickling her exposed ear. Fay went to join the others, looking at Haila was curiousity and the same fear Hermione had seen in her eyes just a few seconds ago.

Hagrid spotted her. "Hermione!" he said, obviously relieved. "She keeps pointin' ter th' fores'. Cain' understan' 'er."

"Where's Professor McGonagall?" asked Hermione, stopping just shy of the girl.

"I dunno, she wen' ter find som'ne."

"Right." She, too, dropped down next to the girl, who was still crying. Hermione heard, behind the tears, words she hadn't noticed before.

"What was that?" she asked quietly.

"They're... I don't want... see... killed -"

"Sh, shhhh," said Hermione gently, placing her hand on the girl's pointing arm, lowering it, and the volume of the tears. "Say it again.

"They're scary!" the girl cried. "I don't want to see them, but in my dream he killed them and then the others faded, and then the trees faded, and then the grass and the hills and the dirt and everything went blank but him, and he just laughed -"

"Slow down, hold on a little," said Hermione, but the girl had been taken by her tears again. Hermione couldn't get her to calm down this time, no matter what she did, the girl grew more hysterical.

"Stop!" she begged the girl. "Please, stop crying and explain!"

But the girl wouldn't heed her words, her whole body shaking. Hermione looked desperately to Hagrid, but he looked completely useless, and the rest of the class seemed of as much help as the half-giant sitting on the otherside of the human waterfall.

"Here we are, Mr. Malfoy. It seems Miss Granger is already here. You may have to do nothing."

Hermione looked toward McGonagall, her emerald robes stridding across the grass, the platinum-haired blond Head Boy following her unassuredly.

"I can't help, Professor," said Hermione, ashamed of herself, getting to her feet, looking at her shoes. "She won't listen."

She glanced up and saw the disappointment and shock in McGonagall's eyes. She looked down again and moved away from the girl.

"Mr. Malfoy, what're you doing?"

Hermione looked up once more. Draco was striding across to the girl.

"Helping. That's what Head Boys do, right?"

He knelt beside her and Hagrid got up and moved away, obviously unhappy with his presence. Draco took no notice - or if he did, he didn't care.

"You can see them?" he asked quietly after a moment, his eyes directed toward the forest.

Hermione looked where his eyes did, and she saw black moving within the black of the forest; and then milky eyes blinked at her, and she understood.

The girl nodded. "Ye-" _hiccup_ "-es."

"Is that all?"

"N-no," she sobbed.

"Tell me," he said, his voice gentler than Hermione could have imagined, soft and smooth, easing the girl's tears away slowly.

"In... in my dreams," she said, "he comes, and he kills them."

"Who's he?"

"_He_."

Hermione understood that part, now, too.

"And what happens when he kills them?"

"Well... he only ev-" _hiccup_ "-er kills one of them, and th-then the others f-fade and then everythi-" _hiccup_ "-ng else fades, t-too, and its only h-him and h-he's l-laughing..."

"So, you're not seeing them as a symbol of death," Draco said, his voice lower now, almost a whisper, so hermione had to strain to hear, but still comforting. "You see them as a symbol of life, and _him_ as death."

She nodded. "Ye-" _hiccup_ "-es."

He pointed his wand at her, and Hermione's anxiety almost forced her to run and tug it from his hand for fear he'd curse her. But he murmured a quiet "_Tollendum_ _Singulto_" and she stopped hiccupping, and Hermione relaxed next to the Headmaster again.

"You want to know something?"

She nodded.

He leaned in and whispered something into her ear, something nobody else could hear. It took him a good three minutes to say it before she responded. "Really?" she asked, absolutely terrified of his words. What had he said?

"Yes," he said. "But they're all gone and _he_'s dead."

Horcruxes. He was telling Haila about the Horcruxes. How did he know about Horcruxes himself? Hermione began to panic mentally, her physical body tensing, her thoughts whirling so fast she couldn't even understand them, stinging her again and again.

"What did he tell her?" Mcgonagall whispered to Hermione as Draco and Haila stood.

Hermione gritted her teeth. "No idea," she lied. Mcgonagall seemed to believe her.

Draco and Haila shook hands, Haila giving him a watery smile. "You'll do well to remember your studies," he said seriously.

She nodded, just as serious.

They both gave a small smile and headed off in different directions; Draco, to the castle, and Haila, to her class, where she was met with the enthusiastic hugs and questions of Fay.

"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall called, striding over to him, Hermione following, angry at her own confusion. "What did you tell her?"

"I offered her reassurance," said Draco easily, his 'reassuring' voice gone, a monotone in use instead.

"What did you _say_?" insisted McGonagall.

"I told her their was no chance of Voldemort coming back."

"And she believed you?"

"Yes."

Mcgonagall certainly didn't believe him, but she let it drop. "Go to class," she ordered. "Tell them why you're late."


	13. Chapter 13

The footsteps from Draco and Hermione echoed through the hall. Draco look stonily ahead of them, his eyes seeing nothing but his feet knowing where to go. Hermione, however, had eyes that studied him intensely, finally putting out an arm to stop him as he was to turn a corner she'd have had to ignore to get to her class. He looked pointedly at her arm, which had grabbed his shirt, and then up at her; but, oddly, his steely resolve seemed to flutter inside his eyes, flickering between determination and something she wasn't sure even he could place. Hermione let go, but neither moved. It wasn't until he exhaled that she realized she'd pulled him very close to her on accident, and felt his cool breath wash over her forehead, and then she realized they other emotion in his eyes were probably discomfort. She brought her hand to her side.

His eyes wouldn't stop flickering and she found herself mesmerized. She couldn't remember what she was going to ask him, or tell him, or whatever it was she was going to do. Her own resolve fluttered as she tried to navigate the vast sees of gray that swam in his eyes, unable to find her way out, choosing instead to simply wander in the rolling waves -

"Yes?"

The sharp word broke her out of the hypnotism she'd been experiencing and she naturally took a step back. How many times had this boy called her Mudblood, made fun of her, even tried to harm her best friend? She knew it was more than she could count, but she couldn't come up with one example at the moment; her mind was set on Horcruxes.

"How do you know about them?" she asked, just as sharply as he'd jerked her back to reality. She felt immediately guilty; she'd spoken much harsher than she'd meant to , and his look of 'Oh, well,' probably came from the slightly jagged word he'd uttered unintentionally, Hermione was now sure.

"Know about what?"

"Horcruxes," said Hermione ominously.

A look of utter shock crossed his face. "What're those?"

"What do you mean?" she exclaimed.

He looked totally bemused. "What are Horcruxes?"

"But..." he seemed sincere. Hermione herself was confused, and then livid. Confusion was happening much too often for her to be really happy. She liked knowing things. "So what did you talk to Haila about?"

"Was that her name?"

"Answer me!"

A sliver of old haughtiness found its way into his eyes, dying quickly. "Giants," he answered. "They're gone and he's dead."

"That's it? That's what you said to comfort her?"

"Yes. Why?"

"How was that enough."

He grimaced. "I may have told her they were more important in the rising of... V... V-Voldemort than they were."

She didn't miss the stutters when he said Voldemort, but she overlooked that. "How would you know?"

He raised his left arm, the steely resolve in his eyes once more.

She blanched.

"Er... right," she said intelligently.

"I'm going to class. Are you going to grab at me again, or am I free to leave?"

The words were fine, but the tone made them rude. "Go, then," she said, making her tone as acidic as his. "See if anyone gives a damn."

She turned around, but not before the look of despair penetrated his face. She hadn't taken a step before turning around. He tried to mask his features, but they continued to slip.

She watched him try again and again for a facial expression that would hide his real one, knowing she'd seen it anyway, because they were making eye contact. She was frozen, speechless, watching him struggle and feeling worse for every attempt he made to stop.

The corridor was silent.

"Draco, I'm sorry," she said quietly, not wanting her words to carry.

He tried his catch phrase, but it died in his throat. "Filthy Mud... Mud..."

"Don't," she said. "You're not going to get anyone who gives a damn about you if you call them names like that."

He couldn't mask the hurt. "Sometimes... sometimes I think he might... but it hasn't... I haven't..."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked.

He gave no reply, but he turned and began walking away.

"Draco," she called after him.

"Whatever happened to 'Malfoy' and 'Ferret'?" he asked bitterly, gaining speed.

"Draco," she tried again, jogging to catch up with him and grabbing his sleeve. He shook her off and set at a quick jog.

"Draco!" she hissed, running around him and in front of him so they were both knocked to the floor when he failed to stop.

His body was warm, she noticed. Surprising, as she'd always categorized him as a cold character. She supposed he wasn't truly reptilian and cold-blooded, but he always seemed to evil.

Not evil, she conceded. Misled.

And then she shoved him off of her and rolled over, getting to her knees.

"Bloody hell, Hermi... Granger, I thought you were supposed to be defending yourself _against_ the Dark Arts, not trying to jump them.

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Hermione jaggedly, angrily brushing off her jeans.

He raised an eyebrow. "Back to Malfoy, are we?"

"Shut _up_, Ferret."

"What are you going to call me when you're mad?"

The question wasn't in the rising volume their conversation had taken, nor was it harshly spoken. She had to look up to give her answer.

She coudn't.

His eyes were as hypnotizing as before. She couldn't think straight, she couldn't breathe for fear of disrupting the air of the moment, she couldn't speak for fear of dislodging this odd sensation where she actually got a chance to try and understand _Draco_ _Malfoy_ -

And then the eyes broke their connection with hers, leaving her speechless, breathless and deprived of any answer to his question or his person.

"I don't care, don't answer," said Draco in an almost-whisper, rising and stepping away before she could reach for him.

"Draco!" she called once as he rounded the corner that took his mop of platinum hair out of her sight. "You come back here right now and finish this conversation or I'll give you a detention!"

His head poked around the corner. "I dare you," he said, grinning slyly. "I think you'll find yourself serving one as well."

"Fine then," said Hermione, finding it impossible to stop her own grin breaking out. "That'll be twenty points -"

"Thirty -"

"Fourty -"

"Fifty!" Draco crowed with laughter, disappearing once more. Hermione giggled to herself.

The walk to the class seemed almost nonexistent in the aftereffects of the conversation she'd somewhat just had. Accusatory, to insulting, to angry, to stunned, to friendly - he truly was one hell of a thing to understand.

And she _would_ understand him. She had nothing better to do.

And then she was standing in the doorway, looking at a man with sandy hair that was cropped short accompanied by blue eyes so similar to Ron's they almost hurt to look at.

"Miss Granger," said Professor Yasmen pleasantly, smiling a lopsided smile. "Everything is sorted out with Miss Haila?"

She nodded.

"Well, take a seat, Ma'am, and let's re-start the class. Who thinks we can re-do everything we've done in the last half-hour?" he called out through the classroom, his voice easy-going and light.

Hermione looked at his clothing. It was very casual; a wizard's cloak over brown pants and a white long-sleeved tee, with the base of none other than tan trainers.

There were shouts of encouragement and false groans. Hermione guessed everyone liked the teacher already; they were all smiling, as was he. She moved silently next to Harry, smiling too.

"This'll have to be a Speed Lesson, or S.L.," said Professor Yasmen. "Who wants to explain what we've been going over?"

Harry's hand was one of many flung into the air.

"Alright, let's see... Mr. Potter, I don't believe I've called on you yet."

"The question remains whether you'll pick me this time," said Harry, not lowering his hand.

Hermione was appalled by his level of cheek, but the Professor laughed. "You've avoided my trap!" he accused. "Very well, do tell us."

"De-animating an Inferi," said Harry proudly.

The Professor nodded. "Who can tell me how to do that?"

Hermione raised her hand, along with many others, again including Harry. The Professor raised his eyebrows. "You weren't here for the lesson, and you know?" he asked.

"Hermione knows everyhing," said Harry.

Hermione blushed. "Yes, I know," she said.

"Well, go on, tell us," said Yasmen, sitting back on his desk, waiting.

"It's complex, very complex. You disenchant them by repeating 'Oltre Mondi' three times under a fistful of flaming sage you hold over your head with your right hand on the night of the end of the second moon cycle of the three-month periods the year can be split into. Once chanted, you placed the sage on your right foot and focus on a diameter of sixty to seventy-three yards around the point where you are, and then pick up the sage in your left hand, touch the non-burning end to your left ear, and then put the fire out, preferably with a magical method. And all Inferi should become bodies once more, with no animation."

The room was silent. "Did I say it too fast?" she wondered, seeing the looks of disbelief on their faces and misconstruing them as incomprehensibility.

"No," said Yasmen flatteringly. "You said it too perfectly. Fifty points to Gryffindor for knowing a lesson it took half an hour to teach in one minute, probably less."

Hermione blushed and looked to her feet, until she looked up when Harry began applauding, Yasmen followed, and soon everyone was clapping for her, turning her face so red she thought it would stay that way permanently.

Even Ron was clapping, and when she sent him a grateful smile, he sent a smile back that was uncomfortable but trying not to be. For his effort, she smiled wider, and felt the ice break once more between them; they were, as of right now, friends again, and she felt blood rush all over her body her heart hadn't yet released for fear of dying without the last injection it'd gotten without Ron tending to it carefully.


	14. Chapter 14

"And I thought that I'd have a chance at being better than you for once," said Harry, shaking his head slowly, pitying himself.

"On the bright side, you get to see Ginny while we go to Herbology," said Hermione cheerfully, tactfully changing the subject.

"He does?" asked Ron, confused.

"We're going to walk right by her, Ron. Look, here she comes."

And she was indeed coming. She was bouncing toward them, Luna at her side, glancing happily at her glinting ring finger every other second while Ginny's eyes remained on Harry, who's pace quickened subconsciously. As the two lovers met with each other in the sunlight that Hermione had just escaped, they embraced, but did not kiss; Ron, however, still looked uncomfortable.

"Professor Sprout's in a good mood," said Ginny, releasing Harry and giving his hand a squeeze. "She seems eager for your class."

"Probably just for Neville," said Harry, smiling serenly at his girlfriend, who smiled back.

"Maybe," said Luna dreamily. "I know I am."

Ron burst out laughing.

It took Hermione a minute to understand, but then she blushed as she did. Harry seemed to have understood at the same time; they both looked at each other and chuckled. Ginny looked disapprovingly at her brother.

"Really, Ron? Must you make everything perverted?"

"She said it, not me," defended Ron immediately. Harry stopped laughing.

"Ooh, here he comes now," said Luna, pointing to Neville as he strode around the corner towards Herbology, a look of highest anticipation etched on his face. He seemed momentarily stumped as to why someone was pointing at him, but then he saw it was Luna.

"Luna!" Neville called, rushing towards her.

Unfortunately, he, beign Neville, no matter how much more awesome he was now, tripped over his own feet, sending his Herbology supplies flying.

"_Windgaurdian Leviosa_. Easy there, Longbottom."

And no other hand than Draco Malfoy's was holding Neville on his feet and levitating his supplies into his arms once more.

Everyone but Hermione looked in shock as he walked toward Herbology as if nothing had happened.

"We'd better get going," said Luna eventually. "And why were you all staring at Draco? It's not like you haven't made friends with the other Slytherins, or Slytherin prefects, at least."

Harry looked uncomfortably at his feet, the forest, the greenhouse - anywhere but Luna and the rest of the company, but especially Luna. Ginny shrugged, plase, and Ron simply look abashed such a qustion was not answered automatically.

"He's Malfoy," Ron said, as if that answered everything.

"Yes," Luna said, pointing to the corner where Blaise, Astoria, Millicent and Marcus had appeared. "And so are they."

"They didn't try to kill Dumbledore," said Ron harshly.

Luna was still unphazed. "Neither did Draco, really."

"Neither did -!" Ron sputtered. "He tried to -"

"Stop, Ron. Holding grudges won't help you pass the class."

"Not all I care about is the class, Hermione," said Ron, his voice sharp, glancing icily her way.

She was immediately on the defensive. "That's not all I care about, either!"

Ron sneered a very ex-Malfoy-ish sneer. "Please, you boggart is a failing grade."

"What's your boggart, then?" Hermione shouted. "Oh, that's right, it's a spider! How terrifying! At least mine is acedemic and will push me forward! Yours will have you sweeping imaginary cobwebs off of your cieling like a maid!"

"Back to normal, I see," remarked Astoria brightly in passing. "Come on, now, we don't want anybody with their throat rippe out before our first day of classes, do we?"

Ron ignored her. "All you'd see looking in the Mirror of Erised is a test with an A+ on it!" he yelled. "Not anything else, just a test! How'll you feel when we have to leave Hogwarts? Going to get a degree in a Ministry-led class? Going to continue taking classes 'till you're ninety!"

"You'd see yourself kissing me," Hermione retorted bitterly. "That's all you really want, isn't it? Come to terms with your poor, poor little grief, or still being a prick?"

She knew she'd struck below the belt. Ron gaped at her. "Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed furiously.

Harry's hands grabbed hers. "Come on," he whispered in her ear, "Class, remember?"

Looking up, she realized they'd drawn an audience. Astoria, Millicent, Theodore and Blaise all were standing, staring, not knowing how mean Hermione could, in fact, be - and then Neville and Luna had gone away, but the rest of everyone outside, or who were close to it, were gathered in a circle, whispering quietly amongst themselves as if watching a good movie.

Hermione ripped her hands out of Harry's grasp, straightened her blouse, and continued toward Herbology.

"I thought you understood," said a meek voice from behind her.

She whirled around again. "I don't have to understand everything, Ronald," she said, meaning for her words to hurt, to cut. "Last time you left, it was me crying. It's your turn. Let's see how you like it."

She spun around once again and didn't have to fight through the crowd because they cleared a lane for her to enter the Herbology room door through.

"Bye," she heard Harry whisper to Ginny.

"Bye," said Ginny between her teeth. "Come on, Ron. I think we're heading to the common room."

She heard one dry, echoing sob.

The Herbology door shut behind her, leaving just her and Neville inside.

"Hey," said Neville, his voice a fake casual. It was easy to see by his averted eyes and the way he was speaking that he was uncomfortsable being in a room with someone who'd just been as mean as she was.

"Hey."

Hermione was already feeling immensely guilty. How could she have done that? she did understand Ron's need for separation in a relationship, she did understand his need to mourn Fred alone. She did. But classes were not all she cared about. Though he'd driven it off subject with the Mirror of Erised comment, she'd intended to tell him what her boggart really was. She knew it would have stopped the argument right there. But couldn't he already tell that she cared about more than grades? That she cared about her family, about Harry, Ginny, Luna, Neville, and above all, him?

"Cunning remark, Granger. Slytherin-worthy."

Hermione was startled by Draco's voice. He, unlike Neville, had no problem making eye contact. It made her uncomfortable.

"Thank you," she said - but what he'd intended as a compliment had made her feel worse. "Where's Professor Sprout?"

"Left," said Neville quietly. "She'll be back soon."

"Ah."

Harry and the other Slytherins flowed through the door.

"Hermione," said Harry angrily, "Why did you -?"

"If you ask me, I'll tell you," Hermione warned, her voice low, matching her eyes.

He looked confused. "That's what I want."

"No, believe me, it isn't."

Harry did not believe her. "Why -"

"Becuase I'm a little lonely, okay?" said Hermione, making up the first story that came to mind. "And I'm blaming him."

"That's not so bad," said Harry gently. "You can tell him that. He'll forgive you."

"You can tell him that, I don't care if he forgives me. I just want... well, I don't kn-know what I want -"

And then Harry was holding her while she cried.

No sounds came from the room around them while Hermione soaked Harry's shoulder and he stroked her hair. His warmth, brotherly warmth, was enclosed around her, keeping her safe from outsidee feelings, letting only the bad ones out and keeping only the good ones in.

"Well, Granger, no need to get weepy," said Blaise. "You and Weasley both. You'd think you were linked or something."

Linked.

The suspicions she'd had for a while arose. Harry had saved Ginny's life just to save her, not to beat Voldemort (or rather, the memory) at the time, and now they were obviously in love - or was it the Debitio? And Ron pulling her out from under the chandelier at Malfoy Manor - would that set it into action? It took four years for Harry and Ginny, and that was remarkably short for some two people who weren't cosely bonded, but she supposed their could have A) been meant for each other, or B) she was his best friend's sister, so it would be quicker. She and Ron, however, would've taken maybe a couple of months. They had been, however, experiencing feelings for each other for over a year, and had been good friends before that. The guilt welled up inside her chest, forcing more tears out while she fought against sobs and just let the salt water run down her cheeks. she hated crying in public. She'd only done it maybe three times. She hated how she felt when eyes were on her watery ones, because she imagined them seeing her as a comical relief to the usual bossy, stubborn know-it-all she was.

But Harry was holding her, making her feel so much better in a matter of seconds, smoothing her bushy hair, whispering soft comfortings in her ear. And she felt cushioned.

"Granger -" Blaise started again.

"Leave her be, Blaise, unless you' like to go through the same thing and not have the reaction of crying and wanting to be held by your best friend."

Hermione pulled away and smiled at Millicent, who was standing next to her. "Thanks," she whispered, not trusting her voice to be strong enough not to break.

Millicent patted her back gently with a warm smile. "No problem," she said.

Hermione turned back to Harry, who brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. It wasn't uncomfortable, or romantic; it was like a favorite sibling, talking about your problems with you and helping you get over it.

She hugged him tightly, pulling back just as Professor Sprout entered.

"Can anyone tell me what Evefosums are?" she huffed, setting down the huge wooden crate she was carrying on the table with a loud _THUMP_ as the rest of the class sat back and watched Hermione and Neville begin to intellectually pary each other about Evefosums, earning almost a hundred points for Gryffindoor in just the first fifteen minutes.


	15. Chapter 15

The next few days had Draco living in a state of complete solitude. Nobody noticed him anymore; he didn't bother speaking up in class; he never ate in the hall (why bother, the food was disgusting to him); he spent most of his free time just looking at the thestrals - never actually approaching, just looking and wondering. Wondering about how different everything would be if Voldemort had won, if Potter had died. Mostly, he focused on one key detail; the notice stuffed into the waste bin in the common room wouldn't exist.

The notice his father had been sent to prison and his mother was on severe house arrest.

He had half a mind to go up and get it a day after he'd thrown it away. But re-reading it and determining a false meaning behind straight-forward words wouldn't help. His father was in Azkaban, being tortured by dementors - his mother had an ever-constant threat of being subject to the same things. There was no denying it. And it had been day after day of Kingsley lurking in the Great Hall, monitoring the goblet twenty-four/seven and everyone who put a name in. Almost a week. The Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor had grown on him since the day they'd 'met'...

But at the current moment in time, he could be found sitting on the floor of the common room. The bookshelves were officially 'integrated', as the students called it now, since Slytherins and Gryffindors, for the most part, got along. He was staring at his hands, committing what the Germans called 'Veldschmirtz'. He didn't notice Potter rummaging through the waste bin furiously, swearing and saying something about a lost quill. He didn't notice when he picked up the rumpled notice Draco had carelessly disposed of. And he didn't notice when Potter looked at him, twiddling his thumbs idly in a corner, staring into what appeared to be empty space. But he could hardly notice when Potter sat down right beside him, clutching the paper.

"Sorry about your parents," he said. Nothing more.

Draco tore the paper from his grasp and in one fluid movement stood and fed it to the fire. It crackled with the new fuel, casting a glow brighter than before.

Harry didn't say anything and didn't judge. He joined Draco, staring at the fireplace.

"Today's Champion Day," said Potter casually, as if expecting nothing more from Draco as the blond boy's eyes gazed between the wars of separate flames. "We get to know who's in the Tournament."

Draco didn't respond.

"You ought to come. You're Head Boy."

"And you're Harry Potter. People will care more about you being there than my existence in general."

"True."

Draco hated it, but he couldn't say anything bad about Potter right then. He as being completely fair and polite, not to mention honest. He wasn't lying about anything. Not even Draco's last statement, which they both knew to be exactly as he'd declared: true.

"Just out of curiosity, why do you never eat in the Hall anymore?"

"Not hungry for the food there," said Draco quietly. Both boys' eyes were still trained on the fireplace.

"You sound like Hermione in fourth year," said Potter, fighting to keep the laughter out of his voice. "She kept calling it 'slave labor' when she found out it was made by house elves..."

He trailed off and moved toward the door. "Coming?"

It took Draco a split-second to decide. "Fine."

The two eighteen-year-olds moved toward their destination in comfortable silence.

"Why didn't you tell her?"

Potter hadn't broken stride, nor had he looked at him; Draco glanced at him quickly, and then in front of himself again as they continued walking. "Who?"

"Bellatrix. At your house. When she asked if it was me."

Draco's breathing momentarily caught, and then reminded himself that, family or not, Aunt Bella had been evil. He should not mourn her...

"I didn't know it was you," he lied.

"That's a lie, but I'll thank you for any reply whatsoever."

"You've no room to call me a liar, Potter. 'It'll be okay, it'll be fine -'"

"How dare you?" exclaimed Potter, stopping in his tracks and wheeling to face him, his eyes wide with incredulity.

Draco bowed his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "You shouldn't know the real answer, and as you're very well aware -" he looked up again with a slight grin "- I like to make fun of my conversational partners."

Harry couldn't repress his grin, either, and they both gave a small fit of laughter before rearranging their features into somber masks and walking forward.

The reached the Great Hall, nodded to each other, and entered, Potter continuing on to side beside Weasley/tte and Draco stopping at the seat nearest the door and placing himself on the seat gently. A serving for one appeared before him, while the whole feast was down at the other end, and he lifted a spoon and carefully tested the french onion soup, almsot gagging as the soured liquid mucked up his throat. He took, instead, a glass of punpkin juice, poured it into the bowl of soup he wouldn't eat, and filled it with water using _Augamenti_. Even it tasted too filtered, but he put up with the too-thin water and waited for Kingsley to speak. He couldn't help noticing Hermione, whispering pleadingly to Weaslette, to stubbornly refused to be polite.

As Kingsley approached the goblet, it acted of its own accord, and for a split, terrible second, Draco swore he saw a flash of the torturous scene that had been seen before.

And then the flames turned blue and spat out a piece of paper.

Kingsley caught it just before it hit the floor, and read: "Einsworth Champion is: Brant Kensworth!"

A boy who'd sat at the Ravenclaw table from the first school - Draco didn't care enough to remember the name of it - stood and walked proudly toward Kingsley, who shook his hand, looking disgruntled, and ushered him through the room he'd seen Potter disappear into way back when. Everyone cheered as the boy beamed and strutted away, but it died down as the Goblet gave a small roar.

The goblet spit again. "Cabaronn Champion is: Simis Trevelton!" shouted Kingsley, reading the charred paper and looking disgruntled more still. This boy looked completely shocked, but pleased with himself. He stood and almot swayed over with the onslaught of cheers and shouts of approval, but made it to the room, disappearing with a tentative smile.

The Goblet's roar was magnificent.

It filled the hall with the battle cry of the king of the jungle, the flames changing colors so rapidly it looked like a rainbow was weaving through them. Its intense light burned across the room, heating it to a sweltering degree of uncomfortableness; several screaming, others cried, and still others hid under the tables.

And then, through the image came the clean one of Hermione Granger, exactly as she was at the prefects' table, terrified and bushy-hired, red from close proximity to the goblet and from fury at finding an image of herself placed upon it.

"No!" she shrieked against the roar; she was so loud, everyone heard her, not the goblet. "No, how is this possible? I didn't enter! _Who put me in_?"

The roar had died down, but Granger's frenzied panic, doubled by her image acting the same way, had everyone lsitening. She hyperventilated; she pulled at her hair, and a sob ripped apart her chest. She screamed again, "_Who put me in_?" and nobody could answer her. Trevelton and Kensworth poked their inquisitive heads around the door.

"Hermione," said Potter. He seemed incapable of fulfilling his sentence, but it had said enough. Inside it had been all the despair Hermione had shown when she thought Potter had been dead, but it was paired with the knowledge that he'd probably have to watch as it happened. His one, quiet word made the rest of the sentence irrelevant, and it was echoed, though not quite as strongly, throughout the hall. Draco had seen enough of that happen to none other than himself.

Professor McGonagall and Professor Yasmen raced toward the hysterical Champion, but McGonagall reached her first. With a surprisingly motherly worry, she wrapped her arms around Hermione and hushed her, rocking back and forth while the barely-adult tried and failed miserably to control herself.

"Who put her name in?" bellowed Yasmen, louder than Draco had heard anyone speak.

"Nobody did," Kingsley said, disgruntled to the furthest degree. "I watched every name and every person myself. Nobody put her name in."

Everyone let this news sink in, and Hermione's gasps and wails were the only sound besides McGonagall's occassional "Shh, shh."

"Then how did it choose her?" Yasmen screached louder than before. "How did she become a Champion?"

Kingsley looked to Potter, who would not look back, and then to McGonagall. "We knew it was acting up," he said, his voice low. "And her name didn't come out of it like the other names did. Her image did."

"Are you saying it took her _presence_ and turned it into an option?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

There was no sound.

A Ravenclaw second-year stood up abruptly. "You can do it, Hermione!" she shouted, her meek voice powerful in its passion. "We know you can!"

She was followed by a chorus of similar encouragements from a group of fifth-year Gryffindors, who stood up and began to clap. and then Hufflepuffs year one through three stood up, and then the entire Slytherin table, after which everyone was standing and clapping and shouting their belief of the Head Girl falling to pieces in front of them in the arms of the Headmistress.

Draco fought his way through the throng of students, in an undetermined effort to reach Hermione and help, help in any way, to stop her from falling to the fate that was a very possible outcome of this Tournament. He'd managed to push his way close enough to hear, through the chaos, the voice of Potter, half-dead with fright and anxiety.

"Please don't make her," he was choking at Professor Mcgoagall.

"As I'm sure you remember, Mr. Potter," said Mcgonagall, his tone matched in hers and tainted with maternal concern, "the Goblet creates a binding magical contract you cannot escape from. She is, from this day forward, a Triwizard Champion."

She stopped holding Hermione and put her hands on the girl's shoulders, looking her straight in the eye. "And she will be the best one yet," she said in a whisper Draco had to strain exceptionally hard to hear. "You, Hermione, will not let us down. You can live through these challenges and you will pass them with flying colors, like you pass everything else. You are strong enough. Remember that, and it'll be true."

And with that, she set a grim smile on her face, and pumped Hermione's fist in the air, proclaiming: "We have our Champions!"

Hermione tried very, very hard to look like she was fine, and that she was going to make it, but she couldn't. Her brave face was no longer brave. It was broken, and so was Potter's, Weaslette's, Neville's and Luna's.

That aroused his curiousity. He'd never known Luna to be broken before. She was spunky, she was. Impossible, incorrigible sometimes, but she was strong in her beliefs and proud of herself, now more than ever. But Draco watched as the dirty blonde stood and moved with jerky, not fluid, motions toward Hermione as Neville reached for her, and then embrace her with starch-like movements; sharp, jagged and nothing like her normal, floating, flourished ones. Hermione nestled her head into Luna's shoulder and remained extremely still, even as the cheers wound down.

Luna was joined by Neville, who leaned his forehead against Luna's and whispered comforts to both girls. Weaslette looked beyond horror; Weasley, on the other hand, looked drained. Completely drained. Couples all around them were embracing at the possible loss of the only girl in and the brains of the Golden Trio and Weasley was all alone, sitting on a bench, mourning his brother and could-have-been wife, though she wasn't dead yet.

Luna and Hermione, heads down, began exitting the room, waalking slowly but assuredly across the floor. They were soon joined by Weaslette, who, for maybe the third time in her life, looked ready to cry.

Draco had the horrible feeling he was watching someone walk to their death, and when Hermione riased her head and looked toward him, he thought he saw Pansy bading him goodbye for one last time.


	16. Chapter 16

"He said they're not supposed to be lethal this time," said Harry, trying the same line he'd been using for the past hour in an attempt to make things seem better than they were.

Hagrid's hut seemed to grow smaller with each passing year. The wooden floors seemed so much older than they had the first time Hermione'd stepped in the half-giant's dwelling, but, then again, it had nearly been burned to the ground. The walls had the same whethered look; even Fang had acquired it. But the furniture had been fixed by Hermione herself through a simple anti-burns spell and looked good as new. Hagrd himself was grim-faced, but the hut was quaint, a symbol that the war was over, that everything was at peace.

Yeah. She wished.

"I know what Kingsley said, Harry," said Hermione, scared by the dullness of her voice. "But unless I can figure out what the task _is_, they might as well have my obituary ready to go."

"Don' talk like tha'," Hagrid said gruffly. "Ya know mos' spells in th' worl', Hermione. You'll ge' pas' this." He turned around with the tea pot and began to pour the drink into their cups, the steam rising and curling into the air before disappearing. Hermione rubbed her hands together to try and shake off their coldness, but it woudn't leave. She placed them over the cup instead.

"Cold?" asked Ron quietly.

Hermione did not respond. She didn't even look at him.

She knew she had been overly mean to Ron when last they'd spoken, but the red-head had started it, and therefore her reaction was his fault. That was what she told herself, but her conscious kept battling so valiantly she often dissolved into a pit of nothingness. Coupled with the fact of the Triwizard Tournament, and she wasn't sure how long she could go on like it. The only thing keeping her from caving in and apologizing was the fact that she was scared of being confused once again by their relationship, or whatever it would be called.

Ron didn't say anything either. There was only the sound of Hagrid's teapot giving its liquid generously to the cup and Hagrid's heavy breathing.

"You'll make it through," said Harry faithfully. "If I coud, you can. You're, what? Six times smarter than me? Ten?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's not all brains, and I'm not you, Harry. I'm not going to blindly walk into a maze and hope to get to a cup. I'm going to question everything and it'll waste time... lots of time."

"There was a sphinx in that maze," Harry said, "It took me maybe three minutes to solve the riddle and it would have taken you maybe fifteen seconds at most."

"These challenges will be different," Hermione argued. Her heart wasn't in it. Her voice was lifeless. "There may or may not be a sphinx. For all we know, I could need to produce a patronus in five seconds flat."

"The only spell you ever had trouble with," Harry said.

Hagrid grunted. "Well, there's no s'inxes," he said, " 'cuz I'd be in charge o' t'em if there were."

Hermione nodded, eyes locked on her cup, which hadn stopped giving off heat. "The tea isn't sufficiently warm," she said, tucking her hands under her arms.

"Sorr'," Hagrid muttered, sitting down across from her and taking a sip of his own tea.

There was just the awkward sipping as everyone tasted the tea.

Hermione had definitely had better tea, but not wanting to hurt Hagrid's feelings, she took another swig and then set the cup down.

"Hermione?"

Hermione, once again, did not respond to Ron.

"Hermione."

"Hermione," Harry said, leaning toward her and speaking in a whisper, "stop ignoring him."

"_Hermione_."

"What, Ron?"

Hermione seemed incapable of putting emotion into her words, but Ron didn't appear to notice. "Look, you're brilliant. You -"

"I suppose I'm 'brilliant' because all I care about is passing classes."

Ron reeled back as if she'd slapped him. "I didn't - Hermione, I... I never -"

"_Never_? You _never_?"

Hermione stood, making her chair fall over backwards behind her, and made her way through the clutter to the door, noticing that her hands grew colder with every step.

"Hermione, don't you walk away!"

Harry was standing, too, and angry. "You don't get to walk away this time. Stay here and fix this, you can't stay away from it forever!"

"I can try."

The door slammed behind her and she leaned against it. Tears evaded her. She felt so empty, like there was nothing left to live for.

She had no idea where to go, and didn't know she wanted to go anywhere but away from Ron and Harry. She remembered the cup on the table, still mostly full, and felt guilty for walking out on Hagrid like that. But the guilt vanished quickly into the abyss she had become. It was an odd contrast: The gorgeous night stars that glistened welcomingly from the sky like angels seemed so bright and happy, so cheerful and perfect, so marvelous; whereas she felt dark and depressed, so dull and flawed, so ordinary that she _almost_ had the urge to scream. She began letting her legs move - to where, she did not know, but she closed her eyes, knowing fully well she could run into a wall or another person but not caring.

It wasn't long before she recognized where she was. She wasn't sure what set off the recognition: maybe the precise way her footsteps echoed as they had the six - now seven - years she'd been here, maybe it was the slight smell of metal that barely tinged the air, but whatever it was, it led her to the Gryffindor common room.

The Fat Lady was staring at her inquisitively; she did not know the password. "You know who I am," she said briefly. "Please let me in."

The lady nodded with a small smile, and the portrait swung open to reveal the hole, trhough which she could hear panting and crying.

Not knowing what to expect, she stepped through. The room was clad heavily in gold and red, as always, but from the right, where the girls' dormitory was, she heard the crying loudest, whereas in the boys' on the left she heard hyperventilation, not just the panting she'd heard before. The room was empty; she was the only person in it.

Scared of what was in the dormitories, she backed out and the portrait hole closed. The lady looked at her wiith surprise. "You're not going to help?"

Hermione shook her head. "It scared me."

The lady looked at her like she was insane. "That's not very Gryffindor-like," she acused, sticking her nose firmly in the air and looking away from Hermione.

"Would it be in the manner of a Gryffindor to not care what happened to you if I was to slash your painting?" said Hermione monotonously.

Fat Lady's eyes were still averted, but she saw them shine with a skin of moisture. "Yes. If you'll remember, Sirius Black did it before, that murderer."

"Sirius was innocent. Sirius _is_ innocent. And stop acting all haughty. If you were basically being sent to walk into a place you knew not and fight or beat something you knew nothing of, you'd act the same way."

"I doubt it. I am, after all, re-paintable."

"Good."

Hermione's eyes flashed and she took out her wand. The lady look at her with defiance, practically begging her to do it. Her insides churned.

"Hermione Granger!" The voice had the slightest hint of a Russian accent, but spoke English very well.

She spun around so quickly she surprised herself when she found she was pointing her wand at a boy's throat. "Sorry," she said unmeaningly, stuffing the wand back in her robe. "Force of habit."

"Not likely," he said kindly. "I'm the competitor from Cabaronn. Nice to meet you."

"Ah," she said, looking around to see if there was anyone else to greet. "And your name is?"

"Simis Travelton. You'd be the girl who didn't put her name in and the famous brians of the Golden Trio."

She nodded weakly.

"Oh, I'm not going to ask for your autograph or anything," he said reassuringly, "so don't worry about that. I was just wondering if maybe, on the trip to Hogsmeade, you'd fancy a butterbeer?"

"Sure," she agreed without thinking, some hint of civility creeping into her voice. She actually looked at him.

He seemed a very nice boy, but very plain - in a handsome way. He had dark brown curls that fell just to his cheeks and tan skin that seemed to glow by the torch light. He had brown eyes, like hers, but filled with fire - on second thought, they were whiskey-colored. He wasn't very muscular, but he seemed smart enough.

He leaned toward her and whispered, "Have you any idea what the first task is?"

She shook her head, feeling more alive by the second but still mostly dead.

He grinned. "I'll tell you Saturday."

Saturday, the first trip to Hogsmeade of the year. She'd completely forgotten it was that soon. And she almost forgot again with the promise of learning the first task. "You know?" she said, trying for exciting but only achieving a polite tone.

He nodded. "Goodbye and see you Saturday," he said cheerily, waving once and skipping off into the dimly-lit corridors of the school.

She stood there for another moment before taking a step back toward the Gryffindor common room.

"Miss Granger," said someone else from behind her.

What now?

She turned and faced Professor Yasmen, who was jogging to meet up with her. "I was hoping to find you," he said pleasantly, looking after the direction Simis had disappeared in. "Who was that?"

"Simis Travelton."

"The Cabaronn Champion?"

"The one and only," said Hermione nonchalantly. "Is everything okay, Professor?"

"Wha -? Oh, yes, quite alright," he said, bringing himself to a stop right in front of her. "I was merely wont to offer you something."

"What?"

"I was merely wont to offer you something."

"No, I know that," she said, a hint of her old exasperation popping out, "I meant, 'What do you have to offer?' "

"Then you should say it like that," he advised, smiling. "You sound hearing-impaired when you simply say 'what'."

She immediately liked this teacher four times more than previously. With any other teacher, it would have been said condescendingly (as Hermione herself often said things), but with him it was merely a playful gesture. "Alright then. What do you have to offer?"

"A coach."

"What?"

He smirked.

She smirked back. "I'm sorry. What do you mean, a coach? What do I need a coach for?"

"The Triwizard Tournament, of course," he said, his voice showing nothing but patience and a willigness - no, a yearning - to explain, a yearning Hermione often had to repress. "You can bet those two boys will have their Headmasters coaching them every step of the way they can, and McGonagall seems to want nothing to do with this contest, so I'm offering you my coaching abilities."

"No."

"No what?"

"No, I do not want you as a coach."

"Oh." His face fell. "I'm sorry to hear that. Well -"

"But I'd be perfectly happy to have you as a partner."

He was stunned. "You continue to surprise me," he said finally, smiling benignly at her. "A partner, eh? So, as equals?"

She nodded.

"You have to understand," he said, growing serious, "that we can only be equals in this Tournament. In class, I am still your teacher."

"We'll see who's teaching who later," said Hermione smartly, "But as for now -" she held out her hand. "Partners?"

He was smiling that same familiar and welcoming benign smile as he shook her hand, his strong and experienced and hers feminine but sure.

"So," he said as their hands dropped, "Have you any idea what the first task is?"

"Not a clue," she said brightly, grinning. "But I should be able to tell you Saturday evening."

"Saturday evening?" he was stunned again. "You can figure it out that quickly without having anything to go on?"

She couldn't stop her 'I-know-something-you-don't' expression from sliding across her face. "With very little doubt," she proclaimed.

"You're shocking, you are," he said, tossing his head back and laughing an easy laugh. "I shall see you in class tomorrow, Miss Granger."

"Hermione, if you don't mind, while we're partners," she corrected.

"Hermione," he fixed himself, "than you may call me David."

"Alright, Professor Yas... David. Tomorrow then."

And the two beings parted, Hermione turning back to the portrait hole to have one more go at it.

"Granger!"

It was an American accent, and she was so surprised she turned around once more. There was the other Champion, standing across the hall, waving her over.

She took no time in reaching him, stopping only when she could reach out and touch his shoulder. This one had light, honey-colored, sun-kissed hair and skin bronzer than a penny, with jade eyes. He had a strong, athleticly built body that was a good four inches taller than Hermione. "I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name," she said.

"Brant Kensworth." His voice was deep and thick, though not as low as Kingsley's. "From Einsworth School of Magic from Hawaii."

"The States," said Hermione, pleasantly intruiged. "What's it like there?"

He smiled, apparently glad she was so nice. "Hot," he said, "Though I wouldn't know about the other states. We've got a live -"

"- volcano," Hermione finished his sentence and he chuckled.

"So, Granger -"

"Do call me Hermione," she said kindly, fully reanimated from her earlier depression.

He nodded. "Hermione, then. Do you know what the first task is?"

She shook her head. "But," she conceded, "If you meet me after the Hogsmeade trip, I can tell you."

"That soon?"

"Sure," she promised.

"Wow," he said, looking thoroughly impressed. "So where shall I meet you?"

"I don't know," she said, pondering and considering each option. "How about right here?"

"Right here?"

"Sure, why not?" she asked. "Right by this statue of a knight that believe me, you do not want to mess with." She pointed to the stone knight she'd once seen come alive and fight giants and Death Eaters.

He looked at it warily. "Can't we meet down by the lake?"

"That's fine," she nodded, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

He smiled. "Thanks, Hermione," he said, grateful. "I owe you one."

"Keep that in mind later on," Hermione smiled as they shook hands and parted.

She headed toward the portrait hole once more.

"Oh, Miss Granger!" called McGonagall, rushing toward her, her sleeping robe flying behind her. "It's good I caught you patrolling. You're needed in there."

She pointed directly at the fat lady, who gave an indignant sniff and once again opened.

"What about Malfoy?" asked Hermione, hurrying to keep up withMcGonagall's pace as she nimbly climbed through the hole.

"He's coming. Oh, dear, it's just what I thought."

A boy maybe two years below Hermione stood waiting for them.


	17. Chapter 17

The next days flew by in a blur for Hermione, who was so eager for Saturday - anxious, really, not eager, that would happen to express some want for the need of the knowledge she was to possess - that she could barely continue fixing the potions. She'd never realized how wrong they were until now. She supposed after having to live under circumstances where if you made one wrong move you were dead for over a year, it had become a habit to fix everything. This, however, had Harry gritting his teeth (hypocrite) Ron glaring (normal) and Slughorn praising her every move, saying she should have his post, not him. "More knowledgable than half the staff, you are," he'd once told her, which, for some reason, made Harry stare at him with anger so malevolent he had fallen out of his chair. Potions, however, was not the only class she was gaining praise in. Defense Against the Dark Arts and Observation were two things she excelled in. David was very competetive, something she admired in a teacher - if you talk to them as an equal, they'll give you respect. Challenging them like you would a good friend is going to get them involved, not angry, like Snape did. Hermione had not missed a single point the entire week so far in either of his classes, even when they had one of their 'Q&A Sessions' as the other students called it, when she and he would shout extremely difficult questions that required long and thoughtful answers, and would nitpick every tiny detail. They both found immense fun in the harmless sport, and it intrigued everyone else to watch. On the rare occassions when Hermione would see him outside the classroom (patrolling or in the Great Hall) they'd stop and talk as partners. He was growing ever more faithful in her abilities, though he knew she knew no more about the first task than he did, and it was a little over a month and a half away.

Hermione found him a most interesting person. The amount of knowledge stored inside his wonderful mind! The amount of enthusiasm, the amount of longing for yet more knowledge! The subject had once come up with what they did in their free time; Hermione had, of course, answered with, "I study, mostly."

With his eyebrows raised, he'd asked: "No fun? No hobbies, like reading, or -"

"Well, I read textbooks, and the Tales of Beetle the Bard."

He'd left his question at that when Hermione asked him what he did. He smiled. "I paint," he'd responded, "and draw. Sometimes I like to just write down ideas for artwork."

Hermione knew, of course, that those artistically talented are usually able to unerstand things beyond the normal capacity level in the Wizarding World. She'd always wondered if it was reciprocal, but had never tested it. She admired him that much more for it. Their friendship was developing quickly, and Hermione's earlier sentiment ("We'll see who's teaching who later") came very true - it seemed Hermione often knew things he didn't, and he often knew things she didn't. They had regular contests in class now, and nobody forgot any of the information they spouted out with the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow.

But Hermione was nearly bouncing in her shoes as the afternoon sun beat down on her as she walked to Hogsmeade on Saturday, her bushy hair caught up in a bun and her eyes alight with curiosity.

The shops in Hogsmeade were overflowingly busy and students everywhere we laughing and singing and talking; kissing, dancing to the music that was played over the whole village every minute of every day since the end of the war. The road where Hermione travelled was packed with bodies that pressed against her, but she made her way through them, seeing a familiar, long mop of dark brown hair waiting to greet her at the door of the Three Broomsticks.

"Simis," she greeted wholeheartedly.

"Hermione," he greeted in return, holding out his elbow for her to take his arm. She did, and the two of them walked calmly and hapily through the door. Hermione saw Ron, out of the corner of her eyes, looking murderously at Simis, but then he was gone into the crowd, just one batch of red hair amongst many colors and she was sitting in a booth with Simis, the buzz of noise surrounding them warm and welcoming. The Three Broomsticks was pleasant, as always, and a young waiter came over to take their order. He could not seem to pry his eyes away from Hermione and Simis had to order twice for him to hear. The man scurried off with an apology, red in the face, and Simis laughed. "Fancies you, he does," he said.

Hermione merely smiled. "The first task?" she reminded him.

He folded his hands on the table, growing very, very serious. "Straight to the point," he murmurered to himself, adding a thank you as their butterbeers were placed in front of them, picking his up and taking a small drink. Hermione waited patiently while he sat his glass back down.

"Do you know the Mirror of Erised?" he whispered quietly.

"Yes," she responded, surprised.

"Well, it's... complicated."

Hermione, to be polite, took a swig of her drink and felt the slight tingle as it slid comfortably down her throat. "Go on," she instructed.

He seemed at a loss for words. "Um... you know what a boggart is, right?"

She gave him a condescending look that earned her a small grin.

"Right. Well... there's one inside."

"Inside the mirror?"

"Yeah."

"Well what's so bad about -"

"The mirror shows you the thing you want most in the world, right?"

She nodded, uncertain now.

"And boggarts show what you fear most?"

She was halfway through her nod when it clicked and her expression changed from one of suspicion to horror. He nodded.

"So... you're saying... that it'll show..."

"What you fear happening most happening to what you want most. Exactly." He leaned back and exhaled, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Hermione took a deep breath and leaned back, aswell.

"Good God," she muttered, closing her eyes and immediately opening them again, leaning forward intently. "Simis?"

"Hm?"

"Wouldn't that be awfully embarrassing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Everybody's watching you and what you most fear and what you most want, and they'll know all your little secrets, won't they?"

He blushed. "Just the biggest secrets," he corrected, "unless you're extremely open with what you want and fear most."

"What if I don't know?"

"You don't _know_?" This had shocked him more than anything she'd said before. "Geez, Hermione, don't you know yourself?"

Hermione pulled back and frowned deeply, tears welling in her eyes.

"Hermione, I didn't mean -"

"What's the rest of the task?"

"What?" he seemed glad of the subject change, even though the words that changed it were thick.

"Wouldn't you just point your wand and 'poof', you'd be done?"

"Ah," he said, leaning closer to her. "You have to open the mirror and let the boggart out before you can cast _Ridikulus_ as it. Otherwise, it'll bounce off the glass. Get it?"

She nodded and took a slow, prolonged sip of her butterbeer, smiling at Simis when he copied her action. "Sheesh," she said loudly, louder than she meant to, making the people in the next booth jump. She sent them an apologetic look and lowered her voice. "You won't be able to see it if you don't look at the glass, right?"

He nodded, but solemly. "But you'll be able to hear it. I think it's supposed to taunt you mentally, so nobody else can shout reassurances - it'll all be in your head."

She made a sour face. "If there's room for it."

The atmosphere lightened considerably, and after a quick goodbye and a shared laugh, Hermione went to tell Brant the news - and after him, David.

But there was a person standing in her way as she reached the door. She hadn't noticed how everyone had grown silent, or how Simis's wave had faltered and his gaze had shifted and become icy. but when she turned her own eyes, she saw none other than -

"Viktor!" she squealed.

He smiled and opened his arms. She flew into them, letting him embrace her, pulling out of the fur-coated hug long enough to take in his masculine, tall frame, clothed in a fur cape that reached his ankles, a long-sleeved red turtleneck and black slacks. She looked back at his eyes and grinned.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, extremely pleased.

"I veard you vere competing in the Trivizard Tournament," he explained, his accent thick and enveloping, smiling calmly and assuredly at her, self-confident as always. "I 'ave come to vatch."

"Just the first task?" she asked, and before she was even done with the question, he was shaking his head.

"The 'ole ting," he replied, taking her hand and squeezing it warmly. "Keep you safe."

"Well... that's sweet," she flushed tomato red and looked down at her feet, but quckly stole a glance at his face. "I was just... I was just leaving," she informed him, motioning with her head to the door.

"Let me escort you," he said, with a flourish of his cape, and held open the door for her.

"I'm going back to the school," she said, "to meet Brant Kensworth."

A lightbulb seemed to go on over Viktor's head. "You 'ave a date?" he inquired, looking pointedly at Simis. "You are on a date?"

"No, no no no!" Hermione gushed quickly, "they're the other competitors, we're talking about the first task. Just friends," she said, seeing that Viktor didn't believe her. Out of the corner of her eyes, Simis's plastered-on smile faltered and he turned crossly back to the booth.

Uh-oh. Was this a date?

"Vell then, let me escort you," offered Viktor again, making sure to point out the door was still open (though not noticing there were several hundred people gawking at him).

Hermione hesitated. Seeing Simis trying to be sneaky about seeing her response, she waved once to him with what she hoped with supportiveness and allowed Viktor to walk with her through the streets. People, oddly quiet, made pathways for them. Walking this closely to Viktor after such a long period of time was odd, especially when they were so close their shoulders touched. To make conversation, she said, "You must be awfully hot in that cloak in this heat."

He shrugged. "A bit. You get used to it."

She frowned. "Well, I don't need you getting heat stroke," she announced, genuinely worried. She stopped him and unbottoned the cape button, draping it over her arm instead. "There. And you're probably still very warm."

They began walking again, getting farther from everyone now. "You are probably just fine," he commented, looking at her short-sleeved green blouse and jean capris and brown sandals. "Not zat I am to judge."

She grinned. "I am fine, thank you," she said, smiling, still flushed and flustered by his presence. "Did you really come all this way just to watch over me?"

"Of course," he said, surprised. "Vhy vould I not? It's _you_, 'er-my-knee. I would travel halfvay across the globe to keep you safe."

The things he said! But she supposed he had to. He had been, after all, her first kiss.

A few minutes passed in comfortable silence before he took her hand.

She began to feel a bit uncomfortable.

And then he stopped walking and she stopped beside him and he leaned in closer to her. Closer... closer...

She knew what he was going to do, and closed her eyes, expectant.

His lips met hers before she could think of protesting and she spent several seconds enjoying the taste of pure bliss on her lips. The heat of the world around them blurred into an incomprehensible red fuzz, out of focus and only heating her further. And then he pulled away.

She opened her eyes.

"I miss you, 'er-my-knee," he said, sure of himself, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"I... Viktor..."

He waited while she struggled for words.

"I just got out of a relationship," she said, "maybe two weeks ago. I don't think... I don't think I'm ready for this... level of commitment again."

He nodded, his face gravely. "I can vait," he promised, "as long as you need me too."


	18. Chapter 18

"Wow," said David, setting down his pencil and notepad (which he laid face down, for future reference).

She'd come bursting into his office after telling the other competitor of the first task and leaving Brant and Viktor to the quarrel they'd gotten in about different types of brooms. She'd explained the entirety of the stage, everything about it, so quickly she had to start over and try not to get worked up. Her nerves were frayed badly. She was jittery and suspicious of everything, but felt safe when the classroom doors were closed and it was just her and David. Her shouts had left her speechless, and she sat on a desk, leaning back and closing her eyes, massaging her temples. David, sitting on his desk casually, who'd been looking outside at the ever-fainter sunlight, had immediately put every quite literally aside and listened intently, never once telling her to calm or slow down, which she appreciated immensely. If he had, she'd probably have lost her temper for no good reason whatsoever; and while they had a strict agreement that they were partners outside the normal schooling hours, it might've put the strain on her grades in his class, though she knew he'd never stoop so low.

"Wow," Hermione agreed.

"Well, it's not that bad," David said. "I can enchant a mirror to show you things you want, though I'll never be able to do something as strong as the Mirror of Erised, and we can have to practice fighting off a boggart -"

The idea of her facing her worst fear and of him seeing things she wanted sat her upright, and she said, "I can fight off a boggart just fine and I know what I'd see in the mirror." _LIES!_ Her conscious screamed, but she continued. The main problem is opening the mirror. I didn't even know it could _be_ opened," she added, mostly to herself.

"Oh, it can be opened," he said lightly, slipping easily off his desk and beginning a walk around the room.

"How do you know that?" Hermione demanded. "I didn't know that."

"History nobody thinks important enough to teach, and really, it's not," he said simply, striding in a calm way close to the walls, occassionally running his fingers softly over something. She watched him curiously. "So, you'll need a plan."

"Yes," she agreed. "I was thinking that I'd try a simple summoning charm first."

"A summoning charm?" he paused, his fingers on an old-looking box. "They'll have protections against that, won't they?"

"Maybe, but I'm guessing they won't," she said honestly, nodding once to emphasize her point. "It is a very basic spell, they might not have thought of it at all when putting up protections."

"Alright, fine," he agreed, moving again. "What would you summon?"

"A lock, if I see it, the boggart if I don't," she replied. "The boggart would have to leave the mirror to come to me, opening it firsthand but mostly ridding the mirror of it and allowing me to work my magic."

"Wise," he said. "Sounds like a plan."

"But what if they have enchantments against it?"

"What?" he paused again, his fingers back on his notepad now.

"What do you mean, 'what'?"

He smiled at her use of his own catch phrase. "You devised a plan based on sound reasoning, why question it and cause yourself more work?"

"It's sound, but skeptical. There are too many variables to have just one plan."

"Do you always plan like this?"

"I try, yes."

He sat back on his desk, looking thoughtful. "That's an awful lot of planning for a teenager," he said.

"As of right now, I am your equal in age and intelligence and everyting else," she said, purposely sounding snotty and turning hr nose up at him.

He turned his nose up at her, too, trying with great difficulty not to grin. "Not blood," he responded.

Had he been anyone else, she'd have been severely offended and would have ignored him entirely. But knowing he meant it jokingly and in mockery of the people she was also mocking, she laughed.

He laughed.

They both laughed.

And soon, they were both laughing so hard they could barely stay on their desks, and the room echoed their laughter heartily, adding something to the room that wasn't there before, though Hermione couldn't place it. They laughed and giggled and chuckled and chortled and snorted and guffawed to their heart's content. When neither could breathe because silent laughter was racking the last of the oxygen from their lungs, they gasped and sputtered for air, both of them seeing how the sky outside the window had darkened considerably. But it wasn't from nightfall, oh, no - the gray clouds had fallen over the bue sky menacingly, threatening to release tons of water in a minute or so. How the day had gone from gorgeous to depressingly dark was beyond her, but with an enormous CRASH! of thunder and CRACK of lightning, raindrops obscured the view of outside, leaving wet trail marks on the window, reminding Hermione, oddly enough, of George's face, looking at his twin as he lay dead on the ground before, the bare thread of existence from his last laugh fding from his sightless eyes.

_That_ dampended the mood a bit.

Hermione walked over to the window, pausing only as she reahced it. She could smell how the rain smelled; that smell of nothing, of purity, of taking away all bad things, of fresh, wet grass, of trees that whispered as their leaves shook of dew drops into the sodden ground below. She could see nothing but the rain and hear nothing but its repeated roaring as it poured onto the roof, but she felt something else; something inside her chest grew light and feathery and floted upward, only to get caught in her throat. But it was a pleasant catch, nothing so big she was going to cry or so small it was irritating. It was a clean catch.

A large and pleasant hand placed itself upon her shoulder, and she need not have looked up to see David, staring out the window just as she did, that somthing caught in his throat to.

"Thank you," she said softly, "for helping me with this."

"You've helped me in tenfold, Hermione," he said, his voice gentle but not smooth; more like a fluffy pillow than a velvety ribbon.

They stared out the window, never fully realizing that the sky was dark of its own accord and that was why they couldn't see. Neither thought of what lurked behind the trees; neither thought of the meaning of David's words; neither thought of anything but how light they felt in that moment when surrounding by heaviness. Light and together. Partners.

Partners.


	19. Chapter 19

There was a backup plan for every backup plan, and a plan to start it off. Hermione had only had a total of twelve hours' sleep for the past three weeks because she'd been so busy searching for information, ANY information. While she told every hypothesis and idea to Simis an Brant, she never told of her plans to anyone but David. He came up with his own, ocassionally, but regularly, she was the brainstormer and he was the correcter, which she thought perfect; he seemed to think so aswell. They were a great team. Now, if Hermione could make it past the first task sane, they'd have another task and another to plan for and more hours to spend talking and enjoying one anothers' company, though the planning would probably be limited during the time of the Yule Ball, which, this year, was also going to be accompanied by the Remembrance Ball, a new dance that was to be held every year on the anniversary of the end of the Battle of Hogwarts (so relatively, the end of the year) to remember all those who'd fallen.

Both balls had been pushed to the very back of Hermione's mind. As of the last three weeks, Viktor had accompanied her to breakfast and dinner (never lunch, as he was not a student and off doing famous-Quidditch-player-taking-a-vacation things around that time every day). Hermione found his attentions flatterig and his sweetness gratifying, but told nobody of their kiss. Though he did hold her hnd occassionally and earn her dirty looks from the girls and him dirty looks from the boys, they had not kissed again, and he did not press her. She was still as unsure as before, but she was, by now, accustomed to his presence and overly glad he was there to speak to at supper while she sat across from him, with Simis on one side and Brant on the other, sharing an occassional glance with David. Her fellow competitors were great people and wonderful new friends; Simis had a passionate love for reading, though mostly fiction, and was smart, but not thoroughly intelligent, and loved to act, as he told her one day; Brant loved Quidditch and idolized Viktor, with whom he'd struck up a cautious friendship, and sometimes (Hermione found this out by accident, helping him pick up papers) wrote poetry. They talked of the first task, possible second tasks (though none of them had the faintest clue) and the amount of schoolwork they had to do (Viktor usually just ate and listened during those parts). She was uncomfortably speaking with Harry and Ron, who she could tell were bothered by her group of male friends; but it wasn't as if she excluded girls or other guys at all. she sat with the other prefects every day. She'd introduced her new friends and Viktor to everyone who didn't already know him and everyone seemed to get along. She was immensely tired and sick of correcting almost every potion she came across, but her grades were perfect and she was pleased with herself.

David continued to pester her about fighting off a boggart, but she refused as normal. She didn't want him there to see what she feared most - though she didn't know herself what it would be. she thought of many things, disturbing things when she tried to fall asleep at night. Of terrible monsters killing those she loved, of those she loved turning into terrible monsters.

The latest distrubing image she'd thought of was Ron walking out of the tent again, but this was a memory and she argued strictly with her conscious about allowing her that particular one.

She guessed she should have been expectant of falling asleep in class, due to the lack of sleep she'd been having. But when David's soft, "Hermione, come on, wake up," reached her ears from the middle of a most pleasant dream of butterfies and France and rose petals, she jerked her head up forcefully, stiffling a yawn and red with embarassent.

"You're overworked," David said, his voice concerned, his eyes worried as they looked at her awake. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

"I... well, I..." Hermione was blatantly aware of everyone staring at her with the same concern David was showing, though a bit detatched, but still curious. "I actually... Well, I didn't sleep."

A worry line creased his forehead. "When was the last time you did?"

"Um..." she racked her sleep-deprived brains, trying to figure out through the wake-up haze when the last time she'd slept, let alone rested, was. "I think it was four days ago, but I'm not sure."

"Hermione," he said disapprovingly, clucking his tongue and standing up straight, looking her in the eye, "go back to the common room -"

"Oh, no!" she begged, standing up as well, begging him, folding her hands imploringly in front of him. "Don't kick me out, I can finish the day, I can make it through, I'm so sorry for falling asleep, don't kick me out! Please! I'm so sorry, please don't kick me out!"

He smiled a small smile that barely tugged at the corer of his lips. "- and sleep," he demanded. "I'll send messages to your teachers. I don't want to see you until supper."

"No, no, please -"

"Nope."

"Please let me -"

"Nope."

"I promise it'll never happen -"

"Nope."

It was evident he was enjoying himself now, not just concerned. She tried again. "I'm sorry, please -"

"Nope."

"I swear I'll -"

"Nope."

"But -"

"Yeesh, Hermione," said Neville from the back of the room. "Just go to sleep, nobody's gonna hate you for missing one school day."

She shot him a dark look and he quieted quickly. "Please, David, I'll -"

"For the sake of Merlin, get some sleep!" he exclaimed, smiling broadly and a twinkle in his eyes, his sandy hair falling into one of them. "I'm sure you already know all the lessons, missing one day will _not_ hurt anything."

"But what if I don't know the lessons?"

He sent her a look of such disbelief that for several seconds, she could think of no reply; and then, against her better judgement, she nodded with regretful consent.

Removing her quickly from the class with a friendly promise he'd speak to her other teachers, she was shut out of the classroom, holding her books and groggily making her way to the common room.

Step, step, step...

One, two, three...

She counted her footsteps for lack of anything else to do.

Step, step, step...

Four, five, six...

Step, step, step...

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty...

Step. Step. Step.

Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight...

Step. Step. Step.

Forty-two. Forty-three. Forty-four.

Step. Step. Step.

Fifty-seven. Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine.

She was slowing down unintentionally, her footsteps growing lighter and more lethargic as she walked.

Step... Step... Step...

Sixty-two... sixty-three... Sixty-four...

Step -

A blond-haired head on a tall body rounded the corner the same time she did.

"Whoa!"

Hermione struggled to re-gain her balance, but it was useless; letting her books spill out of her arms, she began to feel the sensation of falling, and her heart dropped to her stomach. She was sure she was inches away from hitting the ground when Draco caught her, helping her stand again.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice the sam worried tone she'd just heard from David.

"I'm fine," she said, but her eyes were swimming. Everything was blurry and she blinked several times before realizing she was grasping tightly onto his arm for support. Embarrassed, she let go, only to have him catch her again when she nearly toppled over for a second time.

"What's wrong?" he asked, the concern multiplying. "Are you hurt?"

"No," she answered.

"Then why are you falling over?"

"I'm, er..." she swayed slightly and felt his hands place themselves firmly on her hips, keeping her in place. "Just... tired."

"Merlin, Granger," he said, and he sounded utterly bemused. "Why are you, of all people, out of class?"

"Told me to... get sleep."

Hermione's hearing was fading and then returning and her vision blacked and then returned. Draco's steely eyes focused on hers before her vision faded to black entirely and didn't return, and he caught her once more as she crumpled into unconsciousness.


	20. Chapter 20

Draco's hands positioned themselves to keep her from falling and giving herself a concussion; one placed itself under her head, the other on her lower back. He slowly and carefully, so as not to wake her, lifted her into his arms as if she was a doll. Her knees over on arm, her back on the other, and her head folded itself inward and rested on his chest like a child's, her bushy hair warm through his shirt. Her whole body was warm, actually - something he never failed to notice anymore. Always sitting with her competitors, she was, always talking with the Professor, she was, always hanging around with Krum, and she was always warm. But he was holding her as carefully as he could, because she obviously really needed the sleep, and because he didn't want her to wake and force him to put her down.

_It seems as if every time I'm around her, she's asleep,_ he thought, wondering idly if Weaslette would appear this time and get all defensive. He began to carry her toward the common room, the silence of the hallway ringing in his ears.

He pitied the girl in his arms. She was obviously exhausted, and was on uncomfortable terms with Potter and Weasley, and she never wanted to be in this tournament, but she was trying her hardest to make the best of it. Unfortunately, she had been trying too hard. And now she had to be carried by the boy who'd teased her and made fun of her, who had insulted her and degraded her, belittled her for years on end. But she looked so peaceful, and he wondered what her dreams were of, and if they were good ones this time.

Footsteps could be heard suddenly, and they weren't his.

The Kensworth kid appeared. "What happened to her?" he demanded, upon seeing who was carrying her.

"Fainted from exhaustion," he answered simply, ignoring the boy and stepping around him, continuing on to the common room.

Kensowrth didn't press him for a reply, and in fact, made no sound but footsteps. Draco assumed he was following him, and looked behind him to tell him to bugger off, but he saw that he had turned tail and was walking in the opposite direction in an obvious hurry. Confused, Draco turned back and continued carrying the bushy-haired brunette toward the common room.

He thought about the common room. He realized that he'd really only entered whenever he was distraught and needed solitude (though it never lasted very long) and that it had never given him another riddle. He wondered if you answered it once it was enough, and you didn't have to every time. But no, Longbottom always had to answer the riddles, and more often than not, Lovegood would have to help him out. What was it, then?

There. He'd reached it. Plain and inviting, he tried to enter.

A piece of paper floated down from nothing above his head and landed on Hermione's instead, giving him a full view of the words without having to pick it up.

_I can be slow_

_or over in a flash._

_I cannot be used lightly,_

_nor put in a flask._

Put in a flask? What couldn't you put in a flask that you wouldn't use lightly? He wasn't sure, but 'slow' and 'over in a flahs' both fit certain types of potions. 'Cannot be used lightly'... That fit potion, too.

"A potion?" he asked nothing.

The words on the page transformed. _Incorrect, try again._

He thought some more, and then shuddered while saying, "Torture?"

The doors opened.

"Kind of morbid," he muttered, but then fell silent, as Hermione had shifted so her cheek, not her hair, was pressed against the part of his chest that overed his heart.

His heart, for some reason, flittered about in excitement. Embarrassed, he hoped it wouldn't wake her up. He stepped through the door and it closed behind him, and once again, he was alone with a sleeping Hermione.

Unsure of what to do, he sat down on the couch, with her in his lap still, and stared into the fire, which flickered to life as he made himself comfortable. Warily, he put Granger down on the other half of the seating and settled for a long wait until she woke up and could explain everything to him. He closed his eyes.

They flew open again when Hermione's bushy hair tickled his ear as she laid her head on his shoulder in er sleep, so she'd be more comfortable.

His temperature rose considerably, and so did the redness of his face, as well as his heart rate. This was an extremely compromising position and certainly implied certain things that nobody needed to guess at, because they weren't true. But he didn't have the heart to move her.

_I don't have a heart at all,_ he thought bitterly.

It was true he'd sent his letter to the ministry declining the optional appearance at his father's second trial. And he felt that, even though his father was cruel, he was still his father, he ought to attend, even if it be for a moment to declare that he had some good left in him, though Draco wasn't sure that was true, and he knew it wouldn't help, but after Voldemort was gone, fear had stopped gripping his family and wringing it like a snake squeezes the life out of its prey...

His thoughts were one continuous, repetetive chain, and he soon sank so deeply into sleep his last thought was _I hope I don't wake her up snoring_.

Draco was awakened by a shifting of something, by a movement. His eyelids fluttered opened and he realized Hermione had moved her head. His shoulder was cold and bare and cold becuase her warmth had left it. Tilting his head slightly to his right, he saw she was looking at him with confusion, still extremely groggy from her sleep.

"Draco?" she asked, as if to make sure he was there.

"In the flesh," he said, wiping the sleep goop out of his own eyes, noticing she had some and resisting the urge to do it for her as she copied him and swept it away.

"Why was I... _cuddling_ you?" she was confused and slightly repulsed, but hid it well; Draco, however, was used to repulsion.

"You passed out, Granger," he said, by means of exlpanation. "I carried you in here, set you down, sat down myself, and you leaned on me. I fell asleep before I could move you." That part was a lie, but why make it seem as if he was too weak-hearted and soft to tell her to get off him?

"I'm sorry," she murmured, scooting as far away as the couch would allow.

He shrugged it off. "You needed the sleep."

She yawned. "I still need sleep," she correcting, stretching widely, tilting her head back, pushing her arms out and showing offf her chest. Draco looked away, scared that he'd get caught. But Hermione appeared to've noticed nothing, and yawned again when she dropped her arms and relaxed back into the seating.

"What were you dreaming of?" he asked casually, sliding off the furniture and kneeling in front of the fire

" _'I dream of rainbows, bright in the sky,'_ " she said, and Draco was surprised that he recognized the poem.

" _'I dream of lightning, together we cry,'_ " he whispered quitely, speaking the next line.

She sat up straight, surprised. "_ 'I dream of flowers, I feel such delight,'_ " she replied cautiously, with the air of a pleasantly surprised person testing the water before they swam.

" _'I dream of spiders, I scream of fright. '_ " Draco rose to his feet slowly, turning around to look straight at her.

"_ 'I dream of lambs, frolicking around.'_ " She, too, was rising, coming closer, looking into his steel eyes with her chocolate ones.

"_ 'I dream of wolves, hunting, no sound.'_ " He too a slow, involuntary step forward.

"_ 'I dream of children, several of them ours,'_ " she said, her voice a whisp, carrying softly through the still air.

"_ 'I dream of them waking, being up for hours.'_ "

She took step closer. He could smell her breath; it was minty. " _'Stay with me forever and together we'll cope,'_ " she declaimed softly, entrancingly.

"_ 'Because when I dream of you, I dream of hope.'_ "

Something flashed through her eyes andhis mind before he could make it out.

" _'Dream with me awhile and together we'll see,'_ " he quoted, taking a larger step forward, so close he could feel her breath now.

"_ 'Not all dreams are bad,'_ " she almost finished.

" _'So dream along with me,'_ " they finished together, their voices each too quiet to hear separately, but when put together, made a whisper that made both lean in intently.

She was close - very close. Her breath washed over his chin as she, shorter than he, looked at him with something flashing through her eyes, unreadable, just as the same thing continue to sprint in and out of his mind, teasing him with its existence and yet so mysteriously wonderful he never wanted to deduce what it was. He could hear her heart, beating in perfect tandem with his, slightly accelerated, slightly louder than normal. He could see how the chocolate in her eyes melted and felt how his eyes responded; his cheeks flushed ever so slightly, and hers did, too, a delicate, soft shade of pink, giving more warmth to the tan skin she sported under her bushy mane of hair which looked very, very soft at the moment. His fingers tingled with the desire to stroke her hair, and see how very soft it was. His hands twitched with the urge to stroke her cheeks, his arms shovered with the impulse to wrap themselves around her. For a moment, he imagined the briefest flash of wamrth on his arm, through his thin sleeve, causing goosebumps to raise and the hair on the back of his neck to prickle.

And then she stepped away and looked out the window, breaking the moment.

"You know _Dream A While With Me_ by Cathryn Martin?" she asked noncommitally. "I'm impressed. She's not well-known, even among Muggles, but I do like her work."

Draco stepped back, toward the fireplace, to give himself an exxcuse for the goosebumps, though she couldn't see them. "Yeah, I know her work," he answered. "Good poetry, great poetry."

"How do you know it?"

He shrugged. "I intended to find out what your parents read and came across her."

"My parents?"

Shit.

"Just Muggles in general. Your parents were the first ones I thought of."

She nodded. "What about _Was I Dreaming_? D'you know that one?"

"_ 'Angels watch as I lay sleeping,_

_Giving me pictures, I start dreaming -'_ "

"Yes, you know it," she said, so very quietly, he couldnt be sure he heard her right.

"Do you know _LoVe_?"

She shook her head.

" _'__In the English language, _  
_We have just one word for love, _  
_But there are many more, _

_They all have different meanings, _  
_Bu all work out the same, _  
_Love for one another is just like a flame._

_A weak flame is Storge, _  
_And weakening it is too, _  
_It accepts and puts up with, _  
_Destroying soul and mind._

_Philia is a stronger flame, _  
_But still it flickers out, _  
_A general love, tween friends, _  
_It can't survive alone._

_Agape means 'I love you', _  
_A stronger flame still, _  
_This is a bonfire, _  
_Large but contained._

_The biggest flame of all, _  
_Is like a forest fire, _  
_All consuming, _  
_Lighting all in it's path._

_This form of love, _  
_Can be seen by everyone, _  
_Touching peoples hearts, _  
_Giving off little sparks._

_These sparks land on tinder, _  
_Which bursts, spreading all around, _  
_Hurray here it comes, _  
_The famous Eros Flame.'_ "

He saw she had tears in her eyes. "That's beautiful," she said, her voice thick.

He nodded. "Yes, it is. It's one of my favorites."

For one glorious moment, she locked eyes with him again, hers watery from the beauty of the words he'd declaimed, his passionate in the poetry he'd recited for her. The moment seemed to stretch on forever. He wish it had.

For one moment, and then the next.

And the next.

Was he imagining her drawing closer?

And the next moment...

"I'm going to bed," she announced delicately, stepping away from him ever so slightly.

He nodded, keeping his eyes on her as she disappeared with a shaky parting smile into the girls' domritory. The light outside was bright, but fading; near dinner time. He stood frozen on the spot, remembering the rest of the poem _Was I Dreaming_.

_Angels watched as I lay sleeping,  
Giving me pictures, I started dreaming,  
Then from high on heaven above,  
I started dreaming of a dove,_

This dove it was as white as snow,  
Where it disappeared to I'll never know,  
Soon it came back with a twig in its beak,  
I looked in the sky and let out a shriek,

A beautiful rainbow, colours bright,  
Shining there with all it's might,  
Then I heard someone say,  
'I promise it won't happen another day, '

Was I dreaming?  
I'll never know,  
I look out the window,  
There's the rainbow! 


	21. Chapter 21

Draco knew he needed to eat. He wondered when people would realize he wasn't. He'd lost about five pounds, maintaining a lot of weight from the constant water he drank, bitter as it was, because his throat was dry. He knew he was thinner. Looking in the bathroom mirror, he saw his face was thinner and his body was lanky, no longer confident. His skin was as pale as ice, translucent-looking but for the large purple bags under his eyes that had been there since the first day of school, and his hair, normally perfectly styled, was ratty and matted to the sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looked like he'd seen the Grim Reaper.

He sighed and turned on the sink, splashing the cold water on his face and shaking it off. He smoothed his hair back, but it looked even worse. He ran his fingers through it and it looked slightly better. He sighed once more.

He went to change clothes but he found his way blocked.

"You look terrible," Blaise noted, entering the lavatory, the door shutting behind him.

"Thanks," he muttered, moving to go past him.

"Not so fast." He held out an arm to stop Draco, crossing them when he was sure the blond wouldn't leave. "You really look terrible, Draco. What's been going on? You look as if you haven't slept or eaten for weeks."

"I haven't. Now, if you'll excuse me -"

"Why not?" Blaise demanded, stepping in front of him again.

He shrugged. "Food is unappealing and dreams are the same. If you don't mind, I'll be going now."

"Why are they unappealing -"

"What's the point of eating if you're empty anyway?" Draco snapped, his temper flaring. "What's the point of sleeping if you're tired when you wake?"

"By that logic, what's the point of living if you're just going to die?"

Draco paused and considered.

"To stop the people that never can die."

Blaise grimaced. "The only 'immortal' person is dead, Draco. Dead."

"So you're telling me it's better if we all just die off and leave the world uninhabitted by sentient life?" Draco shot.

"No!"

"Then we live for a reason."

"We eat and sleep for a reason, man," Blaise urged him. "Don't kill yourself slowly."

"That's what you were just arguing!" Draco spat, clenching his fingers into fists.

"Nobody wats you to die, mate -"

"_Liar_."

Draco put as much emphasis into the word as he could, and hissed it to create the effect of barely-concealed power. And then, when Blaise looked startled and worried, he realized he'd sounded just like Voldemort.

He shoved himself around Blaise and left him standing stunned in the bathroom, hurrying to his clothes.

When he was dressed in his suit, as was normal, he felt better. It hid some of the weight loss, but he supposed there was nothing he could do to hide the bags under his eyes. The other boys in the dorm were all still sleeping, and the light outside the window was nonexistent. He left the room for breakfast, which he'd stare at and end up eating one bite of.

The halls were empty. He was early, much earlier than he normally was. The early-morning feel wouldn't leave his toes, making him trudge along. He found it funny that he hadn't been sleeping sicne the first day of school, and yet Hermione couldn't go three weeks without it. He still hadn't slept -

Oh, _GOD_.

He _had_ slept. He'd basically snuggled Hermione while he'd slept, too.

He paused in the hall. So the only time he could sleep was around her.

He hated feeling dependant on anything.

He changed courses abruptly, his feet carrying him back towards the common room so he could tell -

Damn.

He didn't have anyone to tell.

Goyle wouldn't even look at him, Crabbe was dead, Blaise was too concerned for Draco's liking, he hadn't spoken to Theodore since the war ended, Astoria always averted her eyes when talking to him, and Pansy was -

Why couldn't he stop his thoughts?

Angry, he stomped back onto his original path and made his way to the Great Hall.

"Early today," remarked Slughorn uncomfortably as they passed each other. Draco nodded, not bothering with a respectful smile because he'd only scare the man. He waddled down the corridor Draco'd just come from while Draco continued on his, determined not to think of anything at all.

He was almost to the hall when he heard it.

"Draco," it whispered, its voice wavery, whispery, luring him in. He stepped toward the statue of a knight he'd seen jump to life last year, and it repeated his name. "Come, Draco," it beckoned.

He was confused until the speck of his own gray eye flashed back at him from the inside of the knight's helmet through the slits.

As soon as he figured out what was going on, the knight transformed. Its rocky skeleton molded itself to that of a thick black cloak. It didn't look like a dementor, but he couldn't think of what else it could be. It slid toward him slowly from the middle of the air, the cloak billowing, though there was no wind, revealing nothing underneath the cloak but blackness. He stumbled back, and it accelerated its pace.

He continued taking steps back until he was against the wall. "_Incendio_," he said, pointing his wand, but the flame licked the fabric uselessly. His hands trembled violently.

" _'__That goes out, _  
_ With _  
_ One_  
_ Last_  
_ Breath...'_ "

Draco was startled to hear it speak in Hermione's voice and dropped his wand. He recognized the verse. The last verse of a Cathryn Martin poem. _Divorce_.

Hearing his wand clatter on the floor, the creature burst forward and the cloak began to extend, wrapping itself around his neck.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

A silver otter pranced past him playfully, spinning and dancing in the air with a ribbon-like grace, and the cloak released him. The cloak faded into a black dust in front of him with a shriek that had his skin crawling, because he'd heard Hermione's voice warp like that in horror and despair, and it rang in his ears, beating against his temples.

The silver otter faded too, and footsteps rushed to him.

"Are you okay?" Hermione demanded, looking at his neck, and then her eyes flickered up to meet his, her fingers brushing against the base of his throat, causing the word _Yes_ to park itself in comfortably. Her eyes were once again melting into his, the warmth of her body so near him he imagined again that her eyes were closing ever so slowly. He could swear she was leaning toward him, her body pressing up against his, her hand on his neck moving instead to his shoulder.

He craned his neck down, closing his own eyes.

_What the hell was he doing?_

He pulled back immediately. "I thought you had trouble with that spell," he said, incapable of making his voice harsh.

Her eyes were closed and the moment froze.

And froze.

Her heart and his were once again beating as one...

Her warmth was mingling with his...

Her hair tickled his chin...

Her breath washed oer his neck...

Her hand on his shoulder tightened...

He cleared his throat.

Her eyes flew open and she stepped back, leaving his shoulder once again cold and bare from her lack of warmth and his chest beating like a base drum.

"I thought I did too," she said quietly.

There was silence.

"It spoke in my voice."

"Yes." It hadn't been a question, but he had one. "What was it?"

"A lethifold."

"A what?"

"The Lethifold (also known as a Living Shroud) is a carnivorous and highly dangerous magical creature. Its appearance resembles that of a black cloak roughly half an inch thick, although it gets thicker if the Lethifold has recently digested a victim. It glides along the ground and other surfaces in an unknown form of locomotion in search of its prey, humans. It attacks its prey at night, when the target is asleep, and suffocates and digests it in its bed.  
The only form of protection against a Lethifold is a Patronus. Other spells such as the Stunning Spell will not work.  
The Lethifold is a very rare species, and can only be found in the tropics.  
The first recorded survivor of a Lethifold attack was a wizard named Flavius Belby. Belby was on holiday in Papua New Guinea, and he managed to escape because he was not fully asleep at the time. He repelled the Lethifold with a Patronus Charm, something other people are unable to do because they are either asleep or Muggles (or both). It is impossible to determine the number of Lethifold victims, as they leave no clues of their presence.  
Much easier to calculate is how many people have faked a Lethifold attack, for their own reasons. One known case of an individual attempting to fake a Lethifold attack was Janus Thickey, who disappeared in 1973, leaving behind a note reading 'Oh no, a Lethifold's got me, I'm suffocating'. Because of this and his empty bed, Thickey's wife and children began mourning him. However, he was soon discovered living five miles away with the landlady of the Green Dragon.  
'Lethifold' comes from two roots: lethum, variation of letum, which is Latin for 'death', 'annihilation', 'ruin', and fold, which possibly pertains to the creature's cloak-like appearance. Lethi- is also similar to Levi-, which is reminiscent of levitation (an ability of the Lethifold) and levis, a Latin adjective, meaning 'light' (a quality that Lethifold also possess)."

Draco stared, mouth agape. "Damn, Hermione," he said.

She seemed startled. "You called me Hermione."

"Yes."

"Well..."

"Hermione!"

Viktor Krum turned the corner. "Are you ready?" he asked her, ignoring Draco completely.

"Um..." she looked at Draco, who shrugged. "Yes," he answered.

Viktor held out his arm and she took it. "By, Draco," she called.

Draco watched them go with a fix of emotions he couldn't begin to place or determine. But he realized, with some surprise, that he was hungry.

Why was it that Hermione forced him to live by doing things that had seemed impossible to him for over a month?

His stomach growled loudly, and he smiled slightly. He looked forward to cake for breakfast. iF he was going to eat, he was going to eat well.


	22. Chapter 23

"_What you hear, I hear._  
_What you see, I see._  
_What you think, I know;_  
_What you want, I need._

_My feelings are stronger_  
_for you than likewise,_  
_but I can look past it when_  
_it's into your eyes._

_You melt when you see me_  
_but are scared of the truth;_  
_you're real when you're with me_  
_but your mind is a brute._

_One cannot love when_  
_the mind and heart are at war._  
_They must coincide_  
_if it's to go far._

_Your mind is too skeptic,_  
_too broken, too scared._  
_Your heart, however,_  
_is well-fared._

_I implore you to see_  
_The effects on me_  
_when you laugh,_  
_when you cry,_  
_when you smile;_  
_will you see?_

_What you hear, I hear._  
_What you see, I see._  
_What you think, I know;_  
_What you want, I need._"

Hermione applauded wildly, smiling broadly at Brant, who looked sheepishly down at his feet. "Beautiful," Hermione proclaimed, clapping loudly with Simis, though his claps were with considerably less force. People looked at them oddly, but the few who'd heard his problem could not but help be moved by the words. Good poetry had - _has_ - that effect; like looking at a stunning work of art, or hearing a remarkably good song; when you could appreciate it fully, you would. Brant turned the color of a beet and looked down so far he had a double chin, but Hermione saw he was smiling. Viktor, one arm around her waist, was patting his lap with his other as a form of applause. "How do you come up with things like this?"

He shrugged. "Inspiration."

"Well, who's the inspiration?"

He smiled slightly. "Oh, just someone," he teased.

"Champions," came the voice of Professor McGonagall as she entered the Champion's tent. "Gather round."

Inside the tent came Kingsley, McGonagall, and Harry.

"Harry," Hermione said, surprised.

Viktor nodded toward the green-eyed boy standing to the right of the headmistress. " 'arry."

Harry nodded to both of them.

"Why are you here?" she asked him.

He grinned proudly. "I'm standing in for Head of the Auror Office, who, unfortunately, is ill with Dragon Pox."

Hermione smiled back.

The uncomfortableness between them dissolved and she was once again his best friend. Jumping up, she ran towards him, hugging him fiercely while he laughed and hugged her back.

"Yes, yes, that's all very sweet," said McGonagall briskly, though she was smiling as well. "Mr. Krum, I'm afraid you'll have to leave."

Viktor made a face, and stood, his tall frame commanding Hermione' attention once more. Striding past her, he winked. "Good luck," he whispered, nodding to the teachers before exiting.

"Gather round, gather round," McGonagall ordered again, "In a circle, come on now."

Hermione, Simis and Brant made half of a circle while Kinsley, McGonagall and Harry made the other half.

"In this task," said Kingsley seriously, "we have placed a boggart inside the Mirror of Erised. It will taunt you and torture you with images and words painful to behold. You must open the mirror and stop the boggart."

Hermione's pulse raced. The thought of the task was horrifying, but she was itrigued by possibilities. She had no idea what shed see in the mirror, but it intrigued her because she knew that the boggart would have to study her for a moment before it transformed the mirror's image. What would she see in that one split second? What would appear? All she really wanted was to know what she'd see.

"The order is alphabetical. Miss Granger, you will go first."

Hermione nodded. She wasn't nervous. She knew how to beat a boggart and she had several plans on how to open the mirror. She needed no help with that. She was curious and nervous about what she'd see.

Harry looked around the tent. "How similar."

"What?" Hermione asked, distracted.

"This tent. It's different, but like the one I was in before the first stage last time."

"The dragon?"

He grinned again. "Yeah."

"Alright. Miss Granger, at the sound of the canon -"

From outside, there was an unmistakable canon blast.

McGonagall sighed. "We really need to show him how to work it properly. Alright, Miss Granger, out that flap and to your right and you'll see the mirror."

Harry reached out and squeezed her arm in comfort. "You can do it," he told her faithfully.

She nodded, and, looking straight ahead, exitted through the flap they hadn't come in by.

There was the large stone arena she'd once looked into with her heart hammering against her ribs with fear for Harry. Now it hammered with anticipation for herself. Upon her arrival, the audience cheered with one defeaning roar that was made of a thousand people screaming their support.

In the middle of the arena stood the mirror.

It was large and had a gold frame, tarnished to the point of bronze and silver, but the insciribitons on it were easy to make out, at least for her. She dared not stand directly in front of it for fear of being disapointed, or maybe not seeing what was in it for that second whilst she read the words that arched around the dusty glass.

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_

_I show not your face but your heart's desire._

She hesitantly murmured the letters to herself and then moved in front of it.

She saw nothing but her reflection, the eyes staring back at her; but then her reflection smiled benignly. _Do you want to know who you are?_ the reflection mouthed.

Hermione nodded eagerly, her heart jumping to her throat.

And then the smile turned from benign to belittling and her reflection grew taller, her hair grew midnight-black and long and untamely, her eyelids heavy.

She stared at Bellatrix Lestrange in the mirror, her eye color the only thing remaining the same.

Was this who she was? Was she really like that inside? Slavishly in love with biggotry and power? With no care for others but herself? She knew without doubt that she was a prodigious witch, but had she no conscience? Was she this evil?

_Oh, yes_, crooned Bellatrix-Hermione, soundlessly and yet loud. _Just like me._ _Actually,_ I'm _just like_ you.

Bellatrix-Hermione's eyes rolled back in her head and she laughed, the voice now a double-timbre of the image's voice and Hermione's, so frightfully realistic it reverberated in her head. Was she like this? Was she really like this? Was it possible she was this awful of a person?

Bellatrix-Hermione's hair shot back into her head so it was bald, her nose turned into slits, and she grew taller still.

Voldemort-Hermione smiled back, her own brown eyes alight with a murderous red flame inside the mirror.

"Come on, Hermione!" screamed someone in the crowd.

David.

"_Accio_!" Hermione screamed, not caring whether she saw the lock or not. Nothing flew into her outstretched hand. Voldemort-Hermione laughed, the double-timbre now her voice and that of the clear, cold one that had wreaked so much havoc on her life.

"_Accio_!" she tried agan, this time aiming at the boggart.

It laughed again.

"_Appareo_!" she yelled, pointing her wand at the mirror.

_Oh, no, little one, said_ Voldemort-Hermione. _Don't give up yet. Can't see the lock? Don't know if there is one? Hm..._ It laughed.

Tears welled in her eyes. She wasn't evil, she wasn't evil, she wasn't -

_Oh, yes you are_, said Voldemort-Hermione. _You broke into Gringotts to steal, you've helped kill hundreds of people without realizing, you hid when there was danger - isn't that very evil?_

"_Venio_," she wailed, her hand shaking.

_Come on, come get me, try and hide who you are -_

"_Muffliato_," she sobbed.

_Well, that won't work; say, isn't that Mr. Ronald in the audience? The very one that broke your heart?_

"_Mufliato_!"

_Wouldn't it be nice if you could break his neck in return?_

"_Arceo_," she tried, weeping so heavily now she couldn't see anymore.

There was no sound.

Wiping the ters from her eyes, she saw that the boggart was screaming at her, incapable of making sound, mentally or otherwise.

She took a deep breath and bent over, hands on her knees, closing her eyes aginst the words it mouthed to her.

"_Occulo_," she murmured, holding her wand out unsteadily and watching as the image in the mirror disappeared as if under an invisibility cloak.

She took several moments to regain composure.

"Hermione, come on! You've spent over a month planning this, you can do it!"

David was shouting again. People screamed more support.

She wasn't evil, she wasn't evil, she wasn't -

"Your wand, Hermione, your wand!"

Hermione looked up and met silvery orbs alight with fear and worry. Draco looked intently at her, begging her with his eyes to continue, to make it through; and she was instantly sure of herself.

"_Prodio et Evanescunt_!"

The mirror's front blasted open and the boggart spilled out of it. Surprised as the boggart was, it blended into the ground perfectly, as if it wasn't there.

And then it gave a shriek of terror that curdled her blood and evaporated, looking as if steam were rising from the stone at her feet.

"We're going to need another boggart," she said, clearly and calmly.

The audience erupted into pandemonium once more.


	23. Chapter 24

"You did it!"

Hermione squealed and flew at Simis, hugging him with a death grip, just as she had done to Brant. "You did it!" she repeated, smiling like the sun.

Simis smiled back weakly. "Merlin, that was bad."

Hermione laughed and Brant patted Simis on the back. "Well done, mate," he awarded him, grinning as well.

" 'ermione?"

"Viktor!" she shrieked, turning to see Viktor fighting his way out of the crowd to reach her. She rushed at him, flying through the flap and leaping into his arms, which wrapped themselves around her and lifted her feet off the ground.

For a moment, everything faded away, and she kissed him with such a passion even he was thrown off balance. His lips on hers were familiar and welcome and she was tingling all over when there was a flash of light.

"Ah, yes," said a voice too close for comfort. "Right. A re-kindling of an ex-love... how _romantic_!"

Viktor set her down with a less-than-happy huff and positioned himself in front of her.

"You have no reaon to be here," he said harshly. The crowd behind them, which had been giggling at her open display of affection, now fell silent.

Rita Skeeter smiled happily. "Oh, but I do," she said. "Tell us, Hermione, exactly when did you and Mr. Weasley call it quits? Or haven't you?" she _tsk_ed twice. "Well, we have been naughty."

Simis stepped in front of her also. "Get lost," he said through grinded teeth.

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, another champion? Tell me, what's it like to be competing against the most famous female in the world? Are you friends? Enemies? The world wants to know!"

Brant then stepped in front of her, joining the other two.

"We have made it evident we don't want you here," he said, perfectly calm an in control, his arms folded in front of him. "I must now ask you to leave or be escorted away from those we actually like."

She looked afronted. "Well! We're not very nice, are we?"

The Quick-Quotes Quill levitating beside her scribbled furiously.

"As it so happens," she said, "I have permission to be here. I'm doing an interview with the Triwizard Champions for the Daily Prophet."

"And who gave you this permission?" Viktor demanded.

She smiled triumphantly. "The Minister of Magic himself."

Hermione internally cursed Kingsley.

"So, which shall I interview first?" she mused, "Let's go with the youngest. Which one of you is -?"

The three looked at each other. They had no idea.

"I'm eighteen," supplied Brant.

"I'm nineteen," said Simis.

"When were you born?" she asked Brant.

"July twenty-fourth, eighteen-seventy-nine."

"Damn," she muttered, "That makes me the youngest."

"Alright then," said Rita cheerily, reaching out for Hermione.

There were three wands pulled out and pointed at her in one instant.

"For Merlin's sake," Hermione sighed, "I can handle myself."

She shoved her way from behind the three boys and Rita grinned cheekily.

"Alright then," Rita repeated, grasping her shoulder with uncomfortable strength. "Come along."

Viktor caught her hand with a longing gleam in his eyes. "We'll talk later," she whispered to him, squeezing his fingers gently and then pulling away.

She moved with surprising quickness through the crowd of students, all of whom glared at her. She missed every dirty look and kept grinning like the Cheshire Cat as they reached the end of the crowd.

Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna were standing there.

"Hermione -" Harry said, but upon noticing Rita, grew silent.

Ron was red-faced. "What'd you mean by kissing him?" he demanded.

Rita's eyebrows shot up and the Quill wrote endless lies. "Ooh, a jealous... boyfriend or ex-boyfriend?" she asked Hermione.

"Ex-boyfriend," she said clearly. "Ex-friend, possibly."

Ron reeled back so quickly and the color drained from his face with such speed she worried he'd pass out. Ginny sighed. Neville frowned and Harry gave a start, but Luna remained calm.

"Oh, you'll still be friends," she said dreamily, "you always will be. You can't throw away seven years' friendship over something as stupid as un-justified jealousy."

"Un-justified -"began Ron.

"Shut up," advised Ginny wisely to her brother, who glared at all three females.

Rita was truly ecstatic now. "Come along, then," she told Hermione, pushing her forward, away from her friends. she sent them an apologetic glance and then allowed herself to be guided back to the castle.

The reached the Entrance Hall and she pulled open a closet door, stuffed Hermione inside and entered herself, slamming the door behind her Quill.

"Alright," she said, "Let's start. How did you get chosen for the Tournament?"

"It conjured up my image on its own," she answered bitterly, uneasy being in such close proximity with a woman she so prudently disliked.

Rita winked. "Sure it did."

Hermione bristled. "It did."

Rita laughed. "I'm sure it did, Miss Granger. and now - what's it lile, being the only female in the second trio you've been a part of?"

"They treat me no differently than they would their friends."

"I'm sure."

"Stop it," she hissed, grinding her teeth together to keep from biting the woman's head off.

She winked again. "Alright then. Now, tell the world - who dumped who? did you dump Weasley, or the other way around?"

"How is that relevent?"

She winked once more. Hermione was tiring very wuickly of the winking. "Just a fun fact," she said. "And I'm going to guess he dumped you?"

Hermione did not deign to answer the question, but the Quill scribbled on.

"Right. Why did he dump you?"

"We mutually agreed that he needed time off from a relationship to mourn his brother."

Rita waved the answer away. "Really, Miss Granger, no need to be so secretive. Why'd he end things? Did you think he reasons were good? did you cry? For how long? Did anyone comfort you?"

"_We_ ended things because of the reasons specified, and yes, I mutually agreed to it. I see no reason for you to know how long I cried or who - if anyone - comforted me."

"So you _did_ cry?" Her eyes glinted wickedly.

Damn.

"Did it take days for you to get over it?" she demanded, jumping on the chance. "Who comforted you? Was it Miss Lovegood? I hear she's engaged to the Longbottom boy, what a perfect match -"

"What is that to mean?" Hermione exclaimed. Rita seemed to regret her words. "Are you saying they're both so odd they're perfect together?"

Rita smiled. "Your words, not mine -"

"Please! Neville's truly awe-inspiring, he killed the most difficult of Voldemort's Horcruxes!" _Not counting Harry_, she thought. "And Luna is incredibly brilliant and kind and proud of who she is! There isn't a better couple on the planet!"

"Not even Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley?"

"Well, everybody expected that to happen, they'd fallen for each other ages before they kissed."

"And is it true that he saved her from the Chamber of Secrets in your second year?"

"Yes."

"Interesting..." she smiled wickedly. "And your new boyfriend is Viktor Krum?"

"We haven't ironed out the details yet," she said cautiously.

"Oh, come now," she said, leaning back against the wall, "we all saw you kissing him."

"Yes, well, that doesn't make him automatically my boyfriend."

Rita rolled her eyes. "Alright. Why are you so hesitant to enter a new relationship? Is it either because Ron's broken your heart and it's not ready to be mended, or you've been kissing more than one guy?"

"Bugger off," she snapped.

"More than one guy? How many?"

"Come on, that was only the fourth kiss I've ever had in my life -"

"Fourth? Fourth? Who were the other three?"

"Two were Viktor and one was Ron. Now leave the relationship stuff out of the picture and question me about something of actual interest."

Rita winked once again. "It is inter-"

"Oh, stop with the winking, it's like you're trying to seduce me!" Hermione shouted at her.

The Quill paused for a beat and picked up again with a pace so furious it was surprising it didn't rip the pad it was writing on.

"Seduce you!" Rita exclaimed, discerned; but then jumped back into her role. "Have you been seduced before?"

"No, and even if I had, I'd never tell you!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Don't tell me, tell the world."

"Why would I tell the world about my sex life?"

"You have a sex life?"

"No, I have a lack of one."

"I'm sure."

"Oh, _stop_ it!" Hermione screamed at her. In anger, she clutched the quill and stabbed the wall with it, breaking the tip and letting ink flow out onto the shelf. She grabbed the notepad, which had fallen to the ground, and read the last part of their interview:

_Miss Granger even admits to having an avid sexual lifestyle, with current beau Viktor Krum, whom she disloyally betrayed last year by kissing Ronald Weasley, the other male in the golden Trio. No comment on how many boys have been included in said lifestyle, but rumors hint at there being more than three. We might be forced to include Mr. Potter himself among this number, as he was one of the boys she meddled with four years ago while he was in the Tournament, not her._

Hermione pointed her wand at the foul, lying piece of parchment. "_Incendio_."

It caught fire and burned to ashes on the spot, leaving the room colder by comparison of the brief flash of heat and light it had given off. Rita's mouth was agape with shock.

"You... you... how... how dare -?" Rita was speechless.

Hermione kicked the door angrily and it flew open, startling anybody who happened to have been walking by.

Hermione gave one last contemptuous look to the still-sputtering liar and fled the closet.


	24. Chapter 25

Hermione looked over at Draco, was appeared to be ignoring her existence entirely. His cheeks were flushed lightly pink, either a trick of the dim torch lighting or he was embarrassed. Hermione guessed the latter.

They passed a window. Outside, the world was black and sprinkled with the lighting of a million tiny stars, each twinkling in a rhythm unknown to the bereft capacities of man - and they were accompanied, she knew, by the biting coldness of November.

A whole month. A whole month had passed, and he still wouldn't speak to her. Whenever it was their night to patrol, he'd point her in one direction and he'd gone the other, making her thanking him impossible. It was often these days you'd see him couped up with a book nobody had ever heard of, in a language nobody knew. Nobody could read them, she doubted even he could, but it kept people away from him, which appeared to be what he liked. On nights like this, when there were two sets of prefects patrolling and they were forced to walk together, he'd ignore her presence entirely. Whenever she would come ear him, he'd come up with an excuse to disappear and she'd be left sighing.

She wasn't putting up with this much any longer, in fact.

"Thank you," she said, taking the risk of him not answering.

But he could hardly pretend not to acknowledge it. Looking frustrated she'd broken the unspoken law of them not talking to each other, looking at each other if they could help it, he replied, in a tone as biting as the chilled air outside, "For what?"

"The first task. I wasn't going to be able to do it if you hadn't yelled to me."

"Oh, that." Embarrassed, definitely embarrassed - his pink cheeks flooded red. "You're welcome."

"Why'd you do it?"

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?"

He was exasperated instantly. "Granger," he groaned.

"Oh, back to a last-name basis, are we?"

"Hermione!"

"That's better." she smirked an almost Draco-like smirk. Back to topic, why'd you do it?"

"Do _what_?"

"I'm afraid I've got you off-balance."

"Do _what_?" he demanded again.

"Have I gotten you off-balance?"

"Hermione, _do_ _what_?"

"I'm sorry for getting you off-balance -"

"I am not moving until you tell me what I did!"

He had, in fact stopped moving. Hermione did not. She kept walking, the only set of footsteps now hers, and said to the boy behind her, "Alright, stay there and never find out, that's fine..."

There was a moment and then he was back at her side, heaving a great sigh. "You're as cunning as any Slytherin I know," he said, as a quazzy-compliment. "Now tell me, what did I do that you are questioning?"

"Why did you help me? Remind me of the things outside the task, the mirror -"

"I wasn't the only one -"

"I'm not asking for a list of_ who_s, I'm asking why."

"I... well, it was my aunt you saw first, and -"

"Draco, honestly? I'm sick of secrets and lies, I had enough last year. Tell me the truth."

"I..." He was uncomfortable and that much was so obvious it was painful. "I didn't like seeing you... suffer."

It was her turn to stop walking. "What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?"

"Malfoy," she scolded.

"Back to a last-name basis, are we?"

"No fair!" she exclaimed. "You're stealing my conversation!"

"I'm afraid I've gotten you off-balance."

"Draco!"

"That's better. Now, back on topic -"

"Draco Malfoy!"

"Yes?"

"You are having entirely too much fun with this conversation!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Too much fun? since when was 'too much fun' real?"

"Since alcohol was invented."

He pondered her answer for a moment, and then burst out laughing.

His laugh was easy, not one of those fake laughs people give under stress, or one of those laughs that's so loud and annoying it blows what's funny way out of proportion. It was true and undeformed, a real laugh. Hermione found it impossible to not laugh along.

For several minutes' worth of laughter, Hermione had thought that they were actually getting along; but no, she was a Mudblood and he was a pureblood, and they had hated each other for seven years. And so after the laughter subsided, they were once again screaming at each other for no random cause, yelling names and alerting Peeves, who came cackling into view.

"Witch!" Draco yelled at her, throwing a bundled-up pair of mittens at her head.

"Well you certainly aren't a Wizard!" she retaliated, catching the mittens. "Oh, how badly the mittens hurt! Save me, do!" she continued with sarcasm.

"Mittens would hurt you!" he retorted, "And I'm not saving your sorry arse again!"

"Again? When did you save me the first time?" she screeched, throwing the mittens back with considerable force, watching as they hit him in the eye and he winced for a moment before he threw them at her again, only to have her once again catch them.

"The first task!"

"You didn't save me, you _helped_ me, conceited biggot!" She threw the mittens at him again.

"If I'm a conceited biggot you're a low-life!" He threw them back.

"Slime-squeezing, scurvy-covered arsehole!" She hit his shoulder.

"Insufferable bitch!" He hit her stomach.

"Egotistical dickface!" She hit his neck.

"Dickface? Dick_face_?" He hit her knee.

"Yes, dick_face_!" She threw the ball at his waist, but it soared a little lower than planned.

He groaned and bent over, holding his private parts.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, rushing to him, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -"

She thought, for one terrible moment, that he was crying, but then realized he was laughing again. Exhaling the breath she hadn't realized she'd held in, she relaxed. His shoulders shook with laughter and his chortles floated across the hallway. She bit her lip and slapped his shoulder with a small amount of force. "You scared me," she accused.

"Hey, I didn't aim a throw at _your_ crotch."

"Can we stop talking about my crotch?"

"What crotch? Who's crotch? You dirty little girl, saying such a word," he said, standing up again and attemtping to keep his humor in. "A dirty word for a dirty girl -"

"How am I dirty?" she asked, checking her clothing for dirt.

"Dirty little mud-"

She had swung her fist before she could stop herself.

With some satisfaction, she felt her fingers connect with his nose like it had in third year and heard a rather loud crunch from the impact; she didn't feel the pain in her hand when she drew it back. He gave a startled gasp and bent over once again, clutching his bloody and broken nose, hyperventilatng. "What... the... hew?"

"You were going to call me a Mudblood," she said, the words powerful because they slid through her clenched teeth.

"Doh... I... was... dot!"

She blanched. "You weren't?"

He groaned. "Doh!" He attempted to straighten up, but the blood leaked through his fingers when he did. Bending over again, he moaned and set himself on his knees, unfortunately staining his jeans with the few drops of blood on the floor and those still falling.

"Well then why did you say 'mud'?"

"You... haf... bud... on... your... shirt!"

She looked down and realized the red polo shirt she was wearing had a mud stain on the crease underneath her chest.

She was mortified. "I'm so sorry," she cried, falling to her knees beside him. "I'll fix it -"

"Doh... dot... you -"

"Don't be rediculous -"

"I'b... dot!"

"Well if we take you to the hospital wing, we'll have to explain how this happened -"

"Do... I... care?"

"Well - I... that is to say, I don't think you'd like people knowing a Muggle-born broke your nose."

He paused for a moment, his breathing steadying itself, but in a faster pace than necessary. "Fide."

She sighed. "Thank you." She pointed her wand at his nose. "_Episkey_."

There was another crunch as the bones reset themselves, and the blood stopped falling. He sniffled and wiped the bottom of his nose, leaving a long streak of scarlet running across it.

"I'm so -" she tried again.

"Just clean me up," he commanded.

She was relieved he was talking normally again enough to wave her wand from his head to his feet, whispering "_Tergeo_" under her breath, watching as the deep red liquid disappeared, sighing when he was spot-free.

He stood unsteadily, looking at her with distrust.

"That's the second time," Hermione muttered, standing also after cleaning the blood-spattered floor with a flick of her wand.

"That you've broken my nose?"

His tone was rude but his eyes were twinkling with amusement. His lips were fighting not to smirk.

She raised an eyebrow. "Find this funny?"

He shook his head. "Not at all. You're just lucky you're a girl an I can't hit you back."

She snorted, watching out of the corner of her eye as the smirk became evident. "Puh-lease. If you had wanted to hit me, you would have."

He nodded his agreement, the corners of his mouth refusing to turn down, and then realized he was agreeing with the Muggle-born who'd just broken his nose _again_ and started shaking it instead. "I have morals," he defended himself.

She forced down the urge to laugh. "I'm sure."

"Aw, did Hermy-wormy bweaky wittle Dwaco's nosey-wosey?" Peeves cackled from above them. "Did a wittle girly-wirly hurt Dracey-wakey?"

"Shut up, Peeves," Draco advised.

He flew away, still cackling about how a girl had broken a Malfoy's nose.

It wasn't long before they both burst into more laughter.

She giggled like a schoolgirl (she was, but giggling really wasn't what she usually did) and Draco chuckled like an old man reading the funnies section of the newspaper. During the laughter, she happened to look out the window again.

The sky was specked with the first snow.

The individual flakes flitted down from the heavens, small, glittering balls of cold, taking their time floating down and joining their brothers and sisters at the ground. A light dusting was all that had happened, but the snow was getting thicker by the second. You could still see the grass, but Hermione guessed it wouldn't be like that for long.

"It's snowing!" she said joyously, bouncing up to the window and pressing her nose against it.

"You're like a little girl," Draco mused lightly, joining her at the window.

"Let's go outside," she suggested suddenly, pulling back and looking at him eagerly. "Please?"

He sighed. "Fine."

She felt like a puppy awaiting master's approval, and as much as she disliked the simile, it was what she was acting like. She jumped and bounced ahead of him, excited by the first snow, anticipating the feel of a cold flake on her tongue.

"Wait up," he laughed, jogging to catch up with her.

The torches in the hallway went out.

Her right foot connected with Draco's left foot, and they both went sprawling - Hermione's back ended up against a cool wall and Draco in a pile at her feet. For all they could tell, every torch in the school had gone out. Draco stood up slowly, feeling along the wall right beside her to help him. The blackness enveloped them, sent every feeling of happiness fleeing. The only light came from the window, where the snow spiraled down cheerily, oblivious to the fear that gripped Hermione's heart as she heard something slither along the ground close to them like a piece of cloth.

"Draco?" she said, her throat so dry it came out a half-whimper, half-squeak.

And then the small amount of light from the window caught on a dark black cloak.

She fumbled when pulling out her wand, and then Draco was there, his back pressed against her front, in front of her, his wand pointed at the lethifold.

"A Patronus, a Patronus!" Hermione whispered in his ear.

"How do I do that?" he whispered back. Hermione knew he was being immensely brave, but the fear in his voice was tinting the determination.

"Think of the happiest thing you can," she urged, talking quickly as it came closer yet, "And say _Expecto Patronum_. It's got to be really happy, or it won't work!"

"Got it." His voice shook, but he did not tremble as he pointed his wand directly at the creature, which was almsot upon them. Taking a step back and forcing her to do so aswell, he said, "_Expecto Patronum_."

There wasn't enough power in his voice, and a whisp of silver left his wand and then faded.

He took several more steps back, and Hermione almost stumbled over as he nearly ran over her.

"C'mon, Draco," she whispered, "Happy. Happy! C'mon, happy!"

It sounded like he was going to cry. "There is nothing happy," he whispered back.

Not knowing what in the name of Merlin she was doing, she grabbed the sides of his head, spun him around, and planted her lips on his.

For one split second, the only things that existed were she and he; there was no lethifold, no imminent threat of death, no darkness, no light, no snow, no fear - just them, their lips moving in synchronization as she furrowed her brow in concentration, trying her hardest to fill him with the happiness that seemed to evade him. She threw her arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around her waist, their body heat mingling, their hearts racing each other but exactly in time with the other.

She released him and spun him back around.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" he bellowed.

Out of his wand burst forth a majestic silver peacock, walking gracefully through the air toward the creature, assured, proud and confident; the lethifold, upon being touched by the animal who was waltzing through the air like a professional dancer, turned into puce green mist and fled out the window, breaking the glass as it disappeared into the night.

A few snowflakes drifted in through the window. All was deathly quiet.


	25. Chapter 26

"Hermione... what was... _that_?"

He could tell she had no answer. Her lips still tingled with the feeling of him on them, and her arms ached to hold him once more. She was biting her lip fiercely and looking down at her feet, one of which she swivelled uncertainly. "You needed something happy, and so I... kissed you. Oh, Merlin, I _kissed_ you!"

And then she bolted.

She bolted away from the confused boy she'd left behind, away from the place of the traitorous act, away from the startled silver orbs that would gaze into hers and make her melt internally. She ran, and she had no idea where to - she passed portraits that were startled by her loud presence, passed classroom doors she'd been in and out of several times, even passed the other couple patrolling (Deam and Seamus) before her feet dug their heels into the floor and she skidded to a stop outside David's door, which stood slightly ajar. She opened it enough to allow her in, and entered, noticing how the snow's radiance bent as it went through the window, casting an iridescent white light over anything it touched. There were slants of this light everywhere, scattered amongst desks and chairs and flooring, even on his desk - but one ray of light found itself lying upon her face.

The more she looked, she realized it wasn't a mirror, and not really her face. For one, her hair was down today, not pulled back into a mass of a fuzzy ponytail; for another, she was wearing a red polo shirt, not a white button-down. But her eyes looked exactly like hers, and her skin had the same soft tone that came when she'd been in the sun lately and had just come inside. Her eyelashes were thicker, though, and slightly longer - her jaw was set, ready. This Hermione looked determined, not distraught. The Hermione in front of her was prepared for anything; the Hermione she was clearly hadn't been.

She drew closer to it slowly, her footsteps oddly quieted. Her portrait was framed in an easy, wooden frame, simple, with little leaves painted on each corner. She thought it looked perfect. Simple, not intricate, with a cute little detail that sweetened it - it was exactly what the girl in the picture looked like. Hermione reached out with one hand to touch it, an then brought it back to her side, not wanting to shatter the illusion.

"That's one of my best," said a voice from her right.

She turned quickly and saw David, his hair ruffled, his eyes looking where hers had just a moment ago; he was in an old t-shirt and striped pajama pants. "It's a remarkable likeness," he said.

Hermione smiled. "She's too pretty."

David sighed and shook his head. "She's not pretty enough. But then again, I shouldn't say that." his eyes turned onto her face, one half-way closed, ready to wink, and then he saw her pained expression. "What is it?"

She opened her mouth to answer, to lie, but no sound came out.

"Is it the second task?" he asked. "Did you find out? Is it bad -?"

"It's not the task," she said, her voice straining to be loud enough to hear, but he seemed to have no difficulty.

"What is it?" he asked, real concern flowing from his mouth as he moved across the room and put his hands gently on her shoulders, his eyes looking into hers.

"I... I... Well, I -" she couldn't think of how to explain it without telling him everything. "I -"

"Hermione," he muttered in exasperation, pulling her tightly into a hug.

Her resolve broke. Tears flowed freely, along with the tale. She told him. She told him everything. Every thought, every feeling, every second of what she'd done. About her breaking Malfoy's nose, about kissing him, about the lethifolds and how worried she was about them, about the first task and how awful it had been and how he'd been the one to get her through it, the second task and how anxious she was because she didn't know what it was yet and it was in a little under a month, about everything. She told her tale of woe to her teacher, her partner, her friend. All while her face was burried in his shoulder as he held her, murmuring soft, soothing words when she got too upset to be understood. Her face and his shirt shoulder were wet, very wet, and Hermione's throat was dry and scratchy. Even after she'd told him everything, he continued to hold her, to let her spill out all the insecurities that had flooded her system. He held her until it was impossible to see outside the window, unless you wanted to see white - the snow came down in one massive, never-ending sheet that coated the ground heavily, like the salt water from her eyes had covered her cheeks.

Finally pulling back, his thumb brushed away one drop of water on her cheek that hadn't soaked through anything or joined a streak. He pressed his lips delicately to her forehead in a fatherly fashion.

"You know," he said, "I thought when you started crying that you'd seen the Prophet article."

"What article?"

"Don't you read the Prophet?"

"I always borrowed Ron's and he won't speak to me."

"I see." His eyes searched her face, his hand cupping her cheek gently, smoothing out all tear stains and rubbing them onto his hand. "I think you should see it."

"See what?"

David looked pointedly toward his desk and inclined his head to the Daily Prophet, which was laying face-down amidst various sketches of hills and trees and stationary and pachment and quills and ink... wait, those last four were actual things, it was so difficult to tell because his drawing were so life-like...

She ever-so-slowly untangled herself from him and glided in an almost ghost-like fashion towards the paper.

Looking back, she never could remember what she screamed, exactly, upon seeing the picture on the front page under the headline Viktor Krum - One Famous Boy, Two Famous Witches, but she could remember it was particularly foul. Her stomach churned and her breath flew like fire from her mouth, scalding her tongue and, she wished, setting the paper aflame. There were two pictures, merged into one, with a black line between them. The first was the one was the one taken after Hermione, Brant and Simis had all passed the first task and she'd kissed Viktor in celebration, captioned Viktor Krum and Hermione Granger. The second was a picture of a bleach-blond, half-starved, scantily-clad young lady smooching Viktor in an inappropriate way, captioned Viktor Krum and Genevieve Grevantile. Hermione knew the name Grevantile. It was in a lot of later chapters in Hogwarts: A History. She remembered the passage perfectly.

_Averich Grevantile was first to discover three more of these uses for dragon blood, bringing the total up to six. He was naturally gifted wizard, but not in the magical sense - many people swear he was the most charismatic person they'd ever met. They never categorized him as manipulative, but he could get what he wanted by whatever means necessary; after discovering these three uses, he boasted of and sold the rights to the information for several hundred dollars, translating losely into several billion today. He secured the hand of the woman he fancied in marriage and they had a small, tightly-woven and proud family. [For more on the Grevantile, see page 678]. Throughout the generations, more discoveries were made - several more, including the beginning of Apparition._

There had been more, but what she remembered next was flipping to page 687, which happened to be towards the end of the book and had a long, long, tiny-fonted six pages filled with the most memorable magical families. Grevantile had been among the batch on the first page. The notes next to the family 'tree' had mostly been of monetary accounts throughout the family, getting larger and larger with each new generation. A very rich, powerful, old and pure-blooded family. Whereas she had no magical connections, no discoveries, no money, and only had power because her best friend was Harry Potter.

She grew red in the face, her eyes bluged, her nostrils flared in fury.

And then she remembered she'd kissed someone else, too.

Her anger deflated and the guilt attacked again, taking advantage of her momentarily let-down defenses. Her mind wracked her with the memory of the feel of Draco's lips, how his arms had been relievingly cold when wrapped around her waist, how that one elated moment had felt when her lips had been preoccupied with his. When she'd kissed Viktor lately, it had been happy, but not like it had when she'd kissed Draco. It was a comfort, not a stimulant; it was a pleasantry, not a vivaciousness. But she did not feel that way about Draco. He was an acquaintance, and an unsteady one at that. They still lapsed into fights, into brief flashes of hatred. Viktor wasn't like that, always in control, satisfied when she said she wasn't ready to go as far as she wanted...

She realized now it was probably because he was being 'satisfied' by someone else.

She choked back a hot sob of regret for not seeing the warning signs sooner.

David's hand was on her shoulder again. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It's... I'm... I'm not good enough," Hermione whispered, staring at the picture of him with the girl, looking ten times happier than he ever had with her.

"Oh, no!" David cried in surprise. "No no no, don't think that, 'Mione."

"But I'm not good enough, Dave, that's the only explanation -"

"No, it' that you're too good-"

"How does that make sense?"

"He can't take -"

"Can't take?" she screeched. "Can't take what? How amazing I am? Yeah, well, how am I amazing? Harry's the Chosen One, Dumbledore was Dumbledore, for Merlin's sake, and Ginny is extremely prodigious when it comes to spells, and Ron is loyal and Viktor plays Quidditch and I'm just some girl that knows nothing besides the theories of how to perform magic nobody cares about!"

"People care about the magic you can do -"

"Outside the classroom I'm useless!" she shrieked, covering her face with her hands. "I can't do half the stuff I know how to because I'm weak! I'm lame and I'm -"

He sighed and hugged her again.

Her father couldn't be there, but she was glad David could be. He was her father in a sense she hadn't ever known. Mrs. and Mr. Weasley had aways been civil toward her, polite, warm and inviting, but he really treated her like family, not like 'oh, it's his friend, we better be nice'.

"Would you believe me," he muttered through the thickness of her hair, "if I told you that you are amazing?"

"No," she muttered back. He chuckled.

"Viktor?" Hermione called out, walking into breakfast the next morning. People gave her quizzical looks and returned to their meals. David smiled supportingly from the

Viktor smiled at her. The smile was normal, usual, but she knew now it was hiding a secret. She frowned back at him, confusing him thoroughly. "I need to talk to you."

"Well, talk."

"No. In private."

He seemed to get defensive very quickly. "There's nothing to be said in private that cannot be said out loud right here."

Hermione lsot control of her temper. Her sight went red and her senses lost reign over her mouth. "You cheated on me!" she screamed, almost as loudly as she had when she'd had her image conjured.

Everybody stared now.

There were whispers flying through the air as quickly as time could. People's eyes all over the oom were trained on them; Hermione's eyes trained themselves in a brief wave over everyone looking, stopping quickly at David, who begged her silently not to go overboard, because she was, in all liklihood, just as guilty. She took a long, deep breath, and looked into his eyes.

"How did you know?" he asked, his voice bitter.

She had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming again. "I saw the article."

"I paid the Prophet to keep from delivering that paper to any students!"

Now he was shouting. She strained her voice so hard trying to keep from yelling back that her next sentence came out a broken whisper. "Fat lot of good it did."

And then Harry was at her side, his hand grasping her wrist tightly. "I think it's time you go," he said, completely in control.

And then Ron was in front of both of them.

"You ignorant little..." he seemed incapable of finishing the sentence. his face was as red as his hair, his hand shaking firecely in his hand as it pointed itself at the broad chest of the internationally famous Seeker. "How dare you even begin to think of betraying her like that? She's the best girl you'll ever mee-"

"Then why did you let her go?" Viktor challenged, jabbing his fingers into Ron's chest, making him stumble backwards.

The effect was immediate.

Harry's wand was instantly pointed at Viktor's head. Everybody in the hall had actually pulled their wands out, Slytherins included. Even the teachers had their wands trained on Viktor, who seemed to realize he had several hundred wands pointed at him at once. Simis was at Hermione's other side and Harry moved in front of her, next to Ron, allowing Brant to fall to her flank. But Hrmione's own wand was also out, and she shoved her way through the people, its tip reaching his temple.

"You know what I can do," she said softly. "Leave now, and don't you dare ever come back."

David appeared behind Viktor. "I'll escort you out," he offered, his tone anything but civil.

Hermione lowered her wand, enjoying herself as the look of terror on his face diluted to fear.

As soon as the wand was once again at her side, Viktor was pushed rudely through a stream of free space between individuals who glared at him, the boy who had dared to cheat on the only female in the Golden Trio and the only girl in the Triwizard Tournament. To them, he was the worst villian they could imagine, in that moment; as the doors shut behind him and people swarmed her, she wondered what they'd think if they knew of her kiss with the boy whose eyes she met from down the table - eyes of confusion and slight hope.


	26. Chapter 27

"Hermione... what was... _that_?"

He could tell she had no answer. His lips still tingled with the feeling of her on them, and his arms ached to hold her once more. She was biting her lip fiercely and looking down at her feet, one of which she swivelled uncertainly. "You needed something happy, and so I... kissed you. Oh, Merlin, I _kissed_ you!"

And then she bolted.

He called after her, but knew she didn't hear; and as hard as he tried to get his feet moving, they wouldn't budge. He could do nothing but stand in shock.

Didn't she have a boyfriend?

But, then again, he'd probably have died had she not. He needed a happy memory. He had to have had a happy memory to have produced a Patronus, but he hadn't had one - the happiest he could remember being apparently wasn't strong enough. That surprised him. The happiest memory he had was ecstatically tinted with discovery and new found capabilities.

_It was those two months at his parents' house that he loathed. Not really Hogwarts, though he called it pathetic numerous times. Because, while the school could not help him, the person waiting for him could. the very person waiting there, already in the booth._

_"Pansy," he said, the greeting almost lost in the gratitude in his voice._

_"Draco." She was clearly bemused by how relieved he sounded at seeing her. She asked her custom question next. "Did you bring me anything?"_

_He grinned. "Of course," he replied, as was the tradition. He entered the compartment and closed the door behind him, blocking out most useless jabbering from other students. Sitting down opposite her,_ _he rummaged in his bag for the silver-and-green wrapped present. His fingers touched the smooth, velvety fabric feeling of the wrapping paper, and he brought it out, letting it glint in the artificial light for a moment before handing it to her._

_"It's small," she noted, and indeed it was - it was no bigger than the palm of his hand. But, knowing what was inside, his smile wouldn't falter while she criticized it with her eyes._

_"Well, open it," he said at last, unable to retain himself, the words flying out of their own accord,_

_She looked up to make a snarky retort, but her eyes, a deep chocolate brown, met his, and, seeing how eager he was for her to open it, she smiled back, forgetting what she was about to say. Her fingers tucked themselves under a flap and daintily pulled it off, leaving a whole side opened. Her thin, slender fingers reached into the packaging and pulled out a black box, the edges of which were intricately designed with silver vines that sparkled like his eyes when she saw the box and her eyes widened._

_He realized, in that one moment where there eyes met over the ring box, that he truly loved her. Not loved her like the friend he always had, as strictly a friend, nothing more than a comforting shoulder; he wanted her shoulder to be always next to his as the arms attached to them led to intertwined hands, each with little rings glistening on them as they said their vows. He really, truly loved her; he had told his parents he'd marry her because it was traditional and proper to marry another Slytherin pureblood; but he really, truly loved her, with all his heart.  
_

_He'd never dream of telling her that, of course. She'd get all snarky on him. But her eyes were begging him to take the box and open it. He slid off the bench and onto one knee, gently taking the box from between her fingers and opening it slowly, dramatically, letting her eyes pop open in wonder at the ring he couldn't see then, but knew what it looked like._

_"Pansy Priscillinette Parkinson. Will you marry me?"_

_He had thought she would have gotten snarky had he said the words he'd been dying to say, but her eyes met his once more, and she whispered, "You missed those little three words in that request."_

_His spirits soared, his heart thrummed like a hummingbird's heart, his mind whirled like he was on a spinning ride at a carnival. He started over, shaky at first, but gaining assurance from her elated expression:_

_"Pansy Priscillinette Parkinson, I love you. Will you marry me?"_

_She looked like she was fighting down tears. In all the time he'd known her, she'd never cried. "Yes," she whispered so quietly that to anyone else it would have been incomprehensible, but to him, she'd screamed it at the top of her lungs._

_He said not a word, but took the ring from the box. It was a simple silver band, with an emerald sitting at the top, a genuine emerald - with a green flame trapped inside, forever dancing, twirling in the gemstone, shining, preserved for eternity. She held out her finger without hesitation, and there the ring slid and took residence; where it would stay for as long as the fire lasted. But, of course, that was a story in and of itself...  
_

How was that not happy enough?

It was as if whenever he was with Hermione, this memories subsided, as if there was room in his head, in his heart, for anyone but Pansy. How ridiculous! Hermione... erm, _Granger_, was a Muggle-born - erm, _Mudblood_. Mudblood!

Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood!

No. Muggle-born. He couldn't fit such an offensive term to someone so unworthy of it.

But he supposed there was nobody to tell him not to go for it.

What was he thinking?

Sure, they could be friends, if he had to, but being stuck with her for longer than necessary would never, he repeated, NEVER lead to anything but that friendship, if it even got that far. They'd maintain the acquaintance-rivalry sort of thing they'd had the whole year, or they'd go back to being enemies. It was up to her. He could try and rub along with Potter, and Weasley, and Weaslette really wasn't that hard to be friends with, she was very... bright, but not in the intelligent sense of the word, _not_ that she was dumb. Very bold, that was the word. Weaslette was bold.

Longbottom and Lovegood would be more difficult, but he supposed he'd asked Theo and Liccy about them.

Liccy.

_"Liccy!" Pansy exclaimed, jumping to her feet and thrusting her left hand in Millicent's face. She beamed happily, Theodore, standing behind the other confused Slytherin, looked bewildered. But Millicent soon saw the gem-encrusted flame and squealed._

_"Pansy, dear Merlin, you're getting married?" Her head swivelled from Pansy to Draco, and then repeated the sight three times, looking so comical Draco laughed._

_"White dress, black suit, the whole thing?" Theodore asked, looking and sounding as if he'd never heard of such a silly thing as matrimony. Draco nodded._

_Millicent squealed again, so loudly it hurt his ears, and embraced his fiance with such enthusiasm he had to laugh again. Pulling out of the hug, Pansy looked toward him, her whiskey eyes reflecting the ring's flame..._

Draco sighed. It would not do to dwell on memories. How long would he stand in this hallway, remembering things nobody needed to? He egan walking.

Another memory hit him with such force he doubled over.

_"No, stop, stop!"_

_Voldemort's cruel laughter was all Draco could hear besides the cries for Draco to save her, save her. His chest wrung itself out, but hands held him back. Tears streaked his dirty face, but he couldn't reach her._

_"Let her go, Draco!" Blaise shouted. "You can't save her! Get back to the castle!"_

_"Pansy!" Draco bellowed, kicking and screaming at Theodore and Blaise as they struggling to hold him in place. "Pansy!"_

_He leaned forward with all his might, trying to break out of their grasp, and they yanked him back so forcefully they all fell backwards and onto the ground._

_Draco felt a particularly sharp rock pierce his head and the warmth of the blood leaving his body, but he was up in a flash, wand out, sprinting toward the trees as Blaise and Theodore called after him._

_The trees welcomed him as any other Death Eater; he bolted between them, once tripping but getting right back up again, following the cries of Pansy while fresh saltwater droplets cascaded onto his shirt. The consistent _thumpthumpthumpthump_ of his feet on the ground of the Forbidden Forest enough to motivate him to get closer to her, to reach her. Her cries were getting closer -_

_Sharp talons grabbed his shoulder so abruptly he stumbled backwards, but the damage was done; he'd seen Pansy and Pansy had seen him, and she screamed, "Draco!"_

_It was the wail of a little girl, scared of something she couldn't help. In that moment, she was a little girl, one little girl_ _scared of what had happened to her body, to her soul. Her last word was his name, and he tried to fight against the hands that had encircled his stomach and shoulders, holding him back; the familiar arms of his parents, the talons his mother's nails. He reached one arm out in futility, for he could not save her, Voldemort was about to finish her off..._

Draco gasped, his lungs refusing to work. What had gone wrong? Happy reminders of Pansy were so much to deal with at night already, but the memory of her dying, of him watching - hadn't reliving it twice already been enough?

He collapsed against the wall Hermione had just been against, breathing heavily, trying to get enough oxygen to focus, to block out the memories, the reminders. How had his defenses gotten lowered? He'd been so careful, hadn't thought of her at all the past two months.

But he knew better. One does not simply forget one's first, only and deceased love. One cannot. It's impossible and if you try, you'll end up blocking in the things you want to block out. And so he let the memory continue, let himself cry like a four-year-old when his father had hit him for the first and last time.

"Hey," Blaise said, looking surprised and extremely tired. He was sitting in front of the fire, Millicent and Theodore on either sides of him, Astoria on the other side of heo, patting his back soothingly.

"What are you all doing up?"

Millicent shrugged. "Food poisoning."

Just then, Draco noticed Theodore held a wastebasket in his arms; no sooner had Draco seen it then it was vomitted into.

"Or rather, Theo has food poisoning," Millicent elaborated, "and we're staying up to help him."

"Right. Hermione kissed me."

There were four pairs of suddenly non-tired eyes staring at him in a mixture of surprise, disbelief, shock and in Millicent's eyes, sadness and pity. She was the first to stand, and the first to speak.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" Draco asked, confused, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of all of them.

"Because of... well, last time... last time you kissed a girl, she died in your arms."

"Stop," said Draco quietly, pressing his hands to his ears.

Millicent knealt in front of him and removed his hands. "Come on, Draco," she murmured. "Say you hated it."

"She saved my life by doing it."

"You mean you were going to kill yourself and she convinced you not to?" Blaise exclaimed.

"No, not at all," Draco said, shaking his head.

"Explain," Astoria demanded forcefully.

And so he told them every scrap of the encounter with the lethifold, how he'd produced a Patronus peacock after she kissed him and therefore enabled him to produce it and save them; about the previous attack, about how she'd run away, about how he'd remembered the happy thing with Pansy and it hadn't been good enough, and when he was done, Theo vomitted again and Blaise was pacing.

"So her kiss made you happy enough to produce the Patronus?" Blaise asked.

"I'm not... I don't think that's it," said Draco slowly, unsure and unwilling to admit just how good of a kisser she was.

"So her kiss brought back the memory of Pansy again, but this time it was enough?"

"I don't... I have no idea," he said, leaning back and closing his eyes, rubbing his temples.

"Draco, are you... moving on? Over Pansy?"

"Wha-?" Draco sat bolt upright again, looking at Astoria with stunned bitterness.

"Are you ready to be in a relationship with someone else?" Astoria specified.

Theor vomitted again and in frustration, Draco flicked his wand and muttered "Tollendum de  
Vomitum". Theo looked at him gratfully, but he turned his attention back to Astoria.

"No."

"But, Draco -"

"I knew how you feel, Tori, and _no_."

She sighed in defeat, a glimmer of hope fading from her eyes. "Alright. So, let's say, your surprise at being kissed again was a good enough memory to prode the Patronus. What are you going to do about the lethifolds?"

"Continue to repel them."

Theo snorted. "Sounds like you can't unless Granger's there snogging you."

Draco clenched his fist.

Theo sighed much like Astoria had, but with no dfeat, just exasperation. "You've got to tell McGonagall."

"Everything?" Draco said, bewildered.

"No," said Blaise, stopping his pacing and looking seriously at Draco, "just about the lethifolds. Say Granger made the Patronus both times. From how you described her actions and the fact she has a boyfriend twice as big as you but half as smart, she'll go with it to conceal her lttle secret."

After much persuasion, they managed to get Draco to the door and it opened, allowing him to step back in the hallway, which had been re-lit by the torches, which were burning merrily again. At the last moment, he turned back to his group of friends.

"You won't tell anybody about this, right?" he asked.

"No," said Tori and Liccy. Blaise shook his head, and Theo said, " 'Course not."

And then the door shut and he made his way to McGonagall's.

Watching Granger from across the hall, he met her eyes, the same light but deep brown Pansy's eyes had been. He was confused. Hadn't she cheated too?

But he was hopeful. Hopeful that maybe, after this, he'd have an excuse not to speak to her again, to ignore her once more, and that the fluttering in his chest would eventually cease to occur after a while.


	27. Chapter 28

"Who are you asking to the ball?"

"What?"

Ginny looked at her like she was insane. "Look, I know you're all buddy-buddy with Ron again, but that doesn't mean he's automatically your date."

"No!" Hermione said immediately, "I wasn't thinking Ron at all. The last thing I want is to make things uncomfortable again."

In all fairness, Ron had been very accepting of her, even after she told him she'd kissed someone too (though she never said who). He and Harry had said something along the lines of 'You meant nothing but an experiment, he meant to betray'. That wasn't exactly true, but she never had intended to be disloyal. Even so, she felt like dirt. Her friends, however, made her feel sixty times better at least. In all the chaos of the previous three days, she'd completely forgotten about the Yule Ball, that they were having Dance Practice tonight, led by none other than McGonagall, and that the Yule ball was in a little under two months. Today was not the only other Dance Practice; they had six, evenly spaced. They were prefects and should dance properly, as Mcgonagall said, and so the prefects would be the only ones not getting just one practice.

"Well, then, who are you asking?"

Hermione shrugged. "Nobody," she said honestly. "The first person who I deem reasonable and who asks me will be my date."

"You're assuming you'll have more than one date offer?"

Hermione gave her a look, and Ginny laughed.

"You're right, I forgot," she said. "At least they got the scheduling fixed. But still! Dance Practice! It's rediculous!"

Astoria came up behind Ginny then, and said, out of nowhere, making Ginny jump, "At least you don't have Slughorn leading yours. Look at those poor other Slytherins, all moping about having to be taught by him." She pointed to a group of sad-looking Slytherin girls who were chattering away in a corner of the Slytherin table.

"Nah," said Theodore, joining the girls, "They're just upset Malfoy's not asking anyone."

"Draco? He's going alone?"

Theodore nodded and winked at her out of the corner of his eye. She punched his shoulder lightly, laughing once.

"Tori! Hermione! Ginny!"

Millicent came running up behind them. "Guess who I'm going with?" she asked, breathless.

"Who?" said Theodore sarcastically, "Oh, I'm betting Draco. Oh,wait, no, that can't be it... hm, who do we know who's desperate enough to -"

"Blaise."

"Oh." Theodore looked ashamely at his feet.

"Blaise?" enthused Astoria and Ginny t precisely the same moment. "Zabini?"

Millicent laughed.

"What were his exact words?" Ginny demanded.

"I'm leaving," Theo announced, and, when nobody responded, he whistled and walked away.

"He said: 'Liccy, I need a date for the dance, and so do you. So, be my date?' And then... wait for it... wait for it..."

She didnt continue her sentence, a wicked grin on her face, waiting for them to cave.

"Well?" Tori askedd eagerly.

Liccy laughed again. "He kissed me!"

Astoria squeaked and clutched Liccy's arm tightly, Hermione exclaimed 'Blimey!' and Ginny asked, "Is he a good kisser?"

"Yes," said Liccy, in answer to Ginny's questions, "he is. But don't think about kissing him," she warned seriously, wagging a finger in the direction of the red-head, who laughed and said she had Harry for that.

"Hey, Hermione..." Tori trailed off mid-thought, and changed her question. "Why don't you have nickname?"

Hermione thought about it. "My name's not easy to nickname," she answered briefly, having no other explanation.

Tori frowned. "Well, we all gave each other pet names. How about... Hermi?"

Hermiome made a face. "I sound like a hermit."

Ginny laughed. "Okay, so... how about 'Mione?"

"No."

"Why not?" asked Liccy.

"Off-limits. Try again."

Her sentences were sharp, but though the girls were intrigued, they didn't push it. "How about..." Liccy thought. "Sua?"

"_Sua_?" repeated Ginny, as if Liccy were the insane one this time. "Were did you get that?"

Liccy grinned. "The first part of her name is 'Her', and -"

" 'Sua' is Latin for 'Her'," Hermione finished, sending Liccy a triumphant smile. "I like it. That's me, I'm Sua."

"No, you're Hermione," said Simis, appearing at her right. "Where is it you guys are headed, anyway?"

"Our Common Room."

"Ooh, can I come?" he waggled his eyebrows up and down comically. Hermione laughed.

"Sure," said Ginny, "But be careful. We don't want you getting stuck outside. The age'll trap you, like it did poor Ernie."

All the girls giggled mischievously, walking faster than the now-wary Simis, who had lagged behind. When he caught up again, the riddle was already manifesting and floating downward like an individual snowflake. Hermione caught it and read:

_I combine fire and air_

_but water burns and earth doesn't care._

_I have wings and a hot tongue_

_and riding on me isn't always fun._

Hermione grinned girlishly. "A dragon," she answered suredly. And then the door swung open.

They all stepped through it, Simis with wide eyes, remarking thigns such as 'Nice place' and many other things. Upon entering, they told him to make himself comfortable and left the room for their dormitory, where the four beds they occupied and had pushed closer together were waiting for them. Hermione's looked normal - covered in unneccesary books, parchment and quills - Tori's was made neatly and Millicent's bedding was all bundled up in the center. But on the end of Ginny's bed was a large red bow with a gold bow on top of it.

All four girls were surprised by the package, but Ginny flew to it, seeing a card that Hermione hadn't. She opened the stationary - the card seemed to be home-made - and Hermione saw _To: Ginevra_ written in Harry's handwriting. "What does it say?" she urged.

Ginny read for a moment:

" '_Ginny,_

_Just something I know you'll make look even better at the Ball._

_- Harry_' "

Ginny dropped the card while the girls proclaimed it was romantic and tore open the package, lifting the contents out and holding them up.

All the girls gasped.

"Try it on," urged Liccy, hands clasped under her chin in excitement.

And so two minutes of undressing, re-dressing and zipping later, they stared at a formal-clad Ginny.

Her dress was dazzling. It managed not to clash with her hair, though it was hugely bright red - all for the lacy waist, with black lace that seemed to become more and more scant as it went up or down the dress, leaving little patterns of shimmers dancing on her dress and in her smile. She turned around clockwise; the girls _oooh_ed as was expected (and because they really meant it) and when she turned counter-clockwise, they _aaah_ed. They all began talking at once over the dress, the note, the money it must have involved (really, it must have cost a ton) and how gorgeous she looked and would look on the night of the ball. Hermione marvelled with the rest of them, but she, unlike the other, remembered Simis; and when the others deigned that they'd ike to stay with Ginny and awe over the dress some more, she left the room alone and with a smile.

As soon as she closed the door behind her, she heard music.

She smiled. It was Beethoven's _Fur Elise_, Muggle music - her Muggle music.

"Care to dance?" asked Simis politely, seeming to appear out of thin air, his left hand outstretched, waiting for her to place hers in it. Smiling broadly, she placed her hand in his, and then he brought her abruptly closer, placing his hand on her waist, taking the steps taght somewhere other than Hogwarts. Hermione stumbled for a while, but eventually got the rhythm - step, step, twirl out, twirl in, dip, spin, glide, repeat. They went dancing and prancing around the furniture, a bounce in their step, laughing their heads off. When the song reached the energetic point, he changed the rhythm on her - glide, step, dip, spin out, step, spin in, lift(!), step, repeat. She couldn't stop smiling, or laughing, just as he seemed incapable of doing so aswell. And then they switched back to their original rhythm as the song reverted to the end, and they ended on the last glide, landing with a thump on the Hufflepuff couch, laughing their heads off, incapable of speech.

There was a smattering of applause, and Hermione realized Liccy, Tori and Ginny were all watching, and they were giggling too - Ginny was back in her regular clothing - because Theo, Blaise and Brant were all at the door, and had watched a good portion also. She blushed, embarrassed.

There were suddenly two boys on either side of her - Simis on her left and Brant on her right, and both said at the same exact time, "Will you be my date to the Yule Ball?" They then both alternated between glaring at each other and looking imploringly at her.

Her good mood was shattered. "Erm..." she said, glancing at Brant and then Simis. Who had she been holding out for? Nobody, she told herself, but she knew it was a lie. But she honestly couldn't think who. She knew, however, that she didn't want to go as either of their dates, because the Champions had first dance with their dates, and if she danced with one of them, the other would look like a third wheel, with or without a partner. "No," she answered both of them. At both their looks of shock, she felt guilty, but she explained her feelings on the subject, and said: "After the customary first dance, I'll dance with Brant, and after that, Simis," she said, "Brant first, though, because you just got a dance with me," she teased Simis, bopping his nose lightly and jumping to her feet.

It was evident the two boys knew they'd get no better response, and they took their leave with semi-cheerful goodbyes, though she could hear them bickering before the door was completely closed. As Theo and Blaise teased her for being such a 'mans' lady' instead of a ladies' man, and the girls pestered her about who she wanted to go with, she wondered how many requests she'd have to deflect before she could answer her friends' questions.


	28. Chapter 29

"Alright," said McGonagall, "As all of you undoubtedly know, the Yule Ball is a Triwizard Tournament tradition, where the Champions -"she nodded to Hermione "- dance the first dance with their partners. You all have to act classy, intelligent and not like a bunch of bumbling, bambling, babbling baboons."

"Say that five times fast," Harry whispered to Ron.

McGonagall unfortunately heard him and quelled him with a look. "Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, come here please," she said.

"What?" Draco yelped from the other side of the room.

She gave _him_ a look this time. "Come dance with the Head Girl, Mr. Malfoy. You are Head Boy and will make a good impression.

"But -" he sputtered.

"Mr. Malfoy," she warned.

Hermione rose and moved to the left of Mcgonagall, everyone watching. Reluctantly, Draco walked sullenly to her right.

"Well, take her waist," said McGonagall, not at all patient.

"What?" he yelped again.

"Mr. Malfoy!" she was slightly put out.

Draco immediately reached out to take her waist, but fluttered his hands about, unsure of where to place them. Sighing, Hermione took them and firmly placed them on her hips, putting one arm linked through his and clasping his hand with her other one. He was cold again. Was he cold-blooded, or could he not get warm? She looked at his face, studying it, but other than it being red, he showed no emotion other than irritation._ Exactly what every person wants to see after their first kiss with a person_, she thought. But then, she didn't like Draco like that and had only kissed him to save their lives, though she knew she could have cast a Patronus herself and wondered if he had feelings for her or if her kissing was just that awesome (she hoped it was the latter) to give him a good enough memory to cast one himself.

"Now," said Mcgonagall, "step, step-kick, step - no, Mr. Malfoy, like this -"

And she demonstrated, walking a step, doing a funny-looking flick with her ankle and motioning for them to try. Hermione could do it; Draco either couldn't, or was really good at tripping over his own feet.

There was a sigh amongst the laughter, and Neville spoke up. "I'll dance with her," he volunteered, sounding dismayed by Draco's lack of dancing skills. Draco himself had turned an even brighter red and had leapt to his feet.

"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom, but we already know you can dance, and you need no practice," said McGonagall briskly. Neville looked both pleased and disappointed and sent her a glance that said '_I_ _tried_'. She smiled at him for his attempt to help, and let Draco take her waist again loosely - much too losely. His hands would slide right off the moment they started dancing. But Hermione was not about to argue that.

McGonagall had different ideas, and placed her hands over Draco's firmly, making them grip Hermione's waist with a comfortable strength, not too strong it hurt, but not so soft his hands would slip. Though it was helpful, it was also extremely embarrassing, and Draco's face looked permanently scarlet.

It took a good six more tries before Draco and Hermione could move on to the next step, and then things moved more smoothly. He really wasn't awkward when it came to dancing at all; simply unwilling. It was a very smooth dance, the Laendler, and his feet knew automatically how to move - however, he remained stiff and formal, not looking at her, never letting the graceful music or steps distract him. People watched, but soon got bored, and began to talk to those around them. With the curious eyes averted, Draco relaxed some. Though Mcgonagall kept showing them the steps, it was unnecessary - Hermione knew the dance, and though he'd never admit it, Hermione was pretty sure Draco did too. After a while, her voice becam the background.

And then his voice was whispering words to hers, his silver orbs meeting her chocolate ones, his steps more fluid, more in touch with the dance. "I thought you were just as guilty as he was," he murmured to her. She opened her mouth to give a smooth retort, but the time had come for her to spin. she did, her hair coming out of its plait and curling and twisting in the air around her. As soon as they were once again moving as one, she replied:-

"Not quite as guilty, as he slept with her because he wanted to and I kissed you to save our lives."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "Fair enough."

MCGonagall seemed satisfied, if only somewhat, with their dancing, and forced more couples to dance together; Harry and Ginny were first, then Neville and Luna, and then Liccy and Blaise. As for Hermione and Draco,they continued to awkwardly shuffle, and Hermione gave up the silence for good. "Why aren't you asking anybody to the ball?"

He wasn't phased in the slightest. "Theo tell you?"

"Yes."

"I'm not going."

"What?" it was Hermione's turn to yelp. People gave her odd looks, but she was focused on Draco. "Why not?"

He shrugged. "I take no interest in dancing with anybody."

"But you're Head Boy!" she exclaimed. "You have to go!"

He shook his head. "It's not mandatory."

"I'm sure Astoria would go with you," said Hermione. "You're friends, right?"

"We are," he said, a sudden bitterness in his voice, "but just friends. That's all."

"Well all you have to be is friends to get a date," she said, exasperated.

He shook his head. "I don't want just anybody for a date," he said.

Hermione was struck by such sudden inspiration she couldn't stop the words. "Why not go with me?"

Draco stopped shuffling entirely. "_What_?" he said incredulously.

"Think about it!" she said, embarrassed but sure she was right. "You're Head Boy, I'm Head Girl, I won't make you dance and you won't make me sit out. We'd both have a good night and we wouldn't have to go alone."

He still looked at her as though she was mental, but she saw a flash of understanding flit through his steel-coloured eyes. "Why should I go with you?"

"Why shouldn't you?"

"You hate me."

She leaned forward. "If I had hated you, I'd have cast the Patronus myself."

He paled. "I don't want to go," he said. "Why not go with Weasel?"

"He hasn't asked me."

"He will."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Not if I go with you."

"I told you, I don't want to go."

"Then why are you here?" she challenged.

He had no answer. He opened his mouth to answer; Hermione waited, but she got nothing. "McGonagall made me," he lied. But Hermione knew better; if he wasn't going and truly didn't want to go, he wouldn't have come. He was harboring a secret desire he himself might not even have been aware of at the time, but Hermione was going to make a friend of him yet - she'd befriended every other Slytherin and wasn't failing now.

"Just come with me," she said. "Not romantically, not even friendly, if you don't like that, but as Head Girl and Boy."

He made a sour face, but his eyes were smiling. "Fine, if you won't let it go," he muttered.

Hermione smiled and held her out to him, which he took and spun her once, with very stiff posture, and they began to shuffle once more.

"I told McGonagall," he said after a while. "About the lethifold attacks."

She froze. "You... how much did you tell her?"

He patted her shoulder reassuringly. "That I was attacked and both times, you conjured a Patronus and saved my sorry arse."

"Mr. Malfoy, watch your language and dance," ordered McGonagall, walking past.

She and Brant were laughing, walking along the shore of the Black Lake, looking at how their feet made prints in the snow and how the lake looked no different than anywhere else, as it was completely blanketted in white. They could tell where the edge of it was because of the dip in the land and the ice that they skittered around. Walking and talking, enjoying each others company as normal. the air was crisp and cold on their faces, brushing against her cheeks and turning her nose and ears bright red, matching his.

"Mirrors are fascinating," said Hermione. "I've always had this theory that you could use them to travel, but nobody seems to want to test it."

"Why don't _you_ test it?" Brant asked. "You could be the one to discover it."

For a second, she dreamed of her name in a book titled_ Discoveries 1900-2000_ sometime in the near future, but laughed it off. "It's just a fun little idea. I also think you could talk to people through them, like a fireplace," she added, "but the only mirror that ever did that is shattered now. If I can re-figure out how to enchant a mirror to do that, we could stop poking around in fireplaces, risking getting burned. And maybe there's people inside mirros. Have you ever thought of that? They could be telephone operators, or something like that -"

"Whaty-phone operaters?"

Hermione's forgotten he was a pureblood. "Telephone. They're electronic devices you use to talk to people."

"So, like fireplaces?"

"Yes, but you don't talk to them face-to-face, just hear their voice and... you know... talk."

He looked confused. "Isn't that what letters are for?"

"Letters can be slow," she said, "And keep in mind, Muggles don't use owls to deliver mail."

"They don't?" This stunned him. "How do they write to each other? How do your parents write to you?"

Hermione spent a good other half hour explaining Muggle mail systems between themselves and Wizarding relatives. He was intrigued, fascinated about this as she was about mirrors. When they were done talking, they walked on in comfortable silence for a while.

And then he took her hand.

Not sure how she felt about this, she allowed it, walking on. It was holding her hand, and she was single. The more she thought about it, it was probably a friendly gesture.

And then he stopped walking and turned her around to face him. Confused, but only for a second, because then he kissed her - full on the mouth. It was a quick kiss, but it surprised her so much the blood rushed to her cheeks again and heated her face. His fingers grasped hers tightly as he pekced her lips once more, twice more, and then pulled back.

"You haven't changed your mind about the ball, have you?" he asked.

"Brant..." she had to think of something to say that would let him down easy. "I've promised you first dance, but I've got a date."

He seemed to get angry very quickly. "Who?" he demanded, so much like Ron she had to supress the urge to chuckle, which would not have helped the current circumstances.

"Someone," she said, not wanting to tell people because he certainly hadn't wanted to gree to go with her in the first place.

It was an odd contrast - one second, Brant was kissing her, holding her hands warmly, romantically, and then next he was storming away, stomping his feet against the ground, creating a mini-snowstorm with each step. Hermione was more bemused than anything. He wasn't a bad kisser, but, as much as she'd expected it, she hadn't felt anything stirring in her chest when his lips had touched hers. She was slightly disappointed.

And then she remembered...

_For one split second, the only things that existed were she and he; there was no lethifold, no imminent threat of death, no darkness, no light, no snow, no fear - just them, their lips moving in synchronization as she furrowed her brow in concentration, trying her hardest to fill him with the happiness that seemed to evade him. She threw her arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around her waist, their body heat mingling, their hearts racing each other but exactly in time with the other._

What was wrong with her? Remembering her kiss with Draco wasn't helping anything. But already, her lips were tingling with the memory of his, and she brought her fingers up gently to touch them, feeling, to her surprise, that they were smooth as marble but as warm as the sun.

And for some reason, she started crying.

No, they weren't heart-racking sobs, nor was she wailing in espair; just one or two tears spilling over her eyelashes to be wiped away quickly as she tried to figure out why they'd fallen at all.

"Hermione? Why are you crying?"

Hermione fixed a dry smile on Simis, who had appeared out of nowhere. "Hey," she said.

"Why are you crying?" he asked again, coming closer, putting his arm around her shoulders, wiping her tears away with his gloved hand. She shrugged.

"I'm not sure," she answered honestly.

"Well, stop," he said. "I hate it when you're sad. Speaking of sad, you'll be pretty sad about going to the ball without a date."

What was with Simis and Brant? Both so focused on the ball, with no particular reason; was this their way of asking her out? You only had to be friends to go to the ball with someone, the exception being her and Draco, who may or may not be tolerable acquaintances. "I have a -" she tried to say.

And his lips interrupted her.

She paused for a moment. His lips tasted good, like strawberries, but there was no spark. Her heart beat normally, her skin wasn't alive with electric jolts of passion, or anything like that she might've hoped for if not expected. Actually, she liked Simis enough. He was a good person. He had been the one she'd always suspected herself of having a crush on; she was closer to him than Brant. But she was overwhelmed with disappointment at this kiss. It was so ordinary, too ordinary, that she was mad. She pulled back right away and, before she could stop herself, had slapped him across the face.

He gasped as the slap stung and she instantly felt bad, but she was still angry at not having feelings for him. "I was taking, and that was rude," she snapped, side-stepping away from him and dodging between trees to get away from the bank. It wasn't his fault she had no feelings for him, but for some reason, she was mad at him for her not having feelings for him.

As she walked toward the castle again, leaving Simis without an apology and with a red cheek, she thought with horror that she was becoming a true mans' lady. She swore, right rhen and there, to herself, that she would kiss nobody else the whole year unless she was dating them. And she wouldn't date them unless she really thought she loved them. _Right_, she thought. _So no more kissing._ She sighed.

And then realized she didn't have a dress for the ball.


	29. Chapter 30

The room was decorated lavishly with blue and silvery-golden items. Even the floor glinted with the reflections of mistletoe and holly, of icecicles and snowflakes that occassionally took a notion to sprinkle down on the head of an unsuspecting person who walked in amongst the throng of others who entered the hall. It was an absolutely beautiful hall, nothing too overdone, and it was cool, a blessing with the amount of body heat present; it was already too crowded, and he already regretted coming. He leaned against the wall, glaring at any and all who dared look at him. He hadn't bothered with a tuxedo; he was wearing a rather old, but good-as-new black outfit - shirt, shoes, suit, and tie. All of the males in the room had dress robes, those from different schools wearing different things. He saw Kingsley and McGonagall conversing in an air that definitely clashed with the high spirits the atmosphere provided for all others but Draco. But he kept his mouth shut.

"Not here yet?" asked Theodore, coming over to stand by him. Draco shook his head, and, noticing the flower in his friend's hand, asked him who he came with. "Padma Patil," was the answer, almost making Draco gag.

"Padma? That little gossip? The ugly one of the twins?"

Theodore sent him a look. "She's not ugly, she has a big nose. If you'd look, you'd see that Parvati had big ears."

Draco snorted. "So either way, you've got a bad date. Or will you dance with her sister too?"

Theo was angry. "Stop it," he snapped.

Draco sighed and knocked the back of his head against the wall. "Sorry. I don't want to be here."

Theo relaxed. "Neither does Astoria. Had to come with the Smith bloke. Everyone else was taken."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Zacharias Smith?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Poor Astoria - oh, look, here she comes."

At the top of the stairs appeared Tori, her dark hair plaited down the middle and twisted into a bun, wearing a dress that looked like an elegantly draped green silk towel. She didn't look happy, but upon seeing them, she broke into a wide grin, whispered into Smith's ear, watched as he scurried off, and rushed towards them, nearly tripping over her dress. Draco chortled when she had to grab his shoulder to keep from teetering over on her heels. "Shut up," she told him, "they were expensive."

He wasn't impressed. "What isn't?"

Tori laughed. "Hermione's dress. Wait till you see it, I can't believe she got it for only two hundred and thirteen dollars -"

"That little?" Draco exclaimed, wide-awake now. "What's she showing up in, rags?"

"There's Padma," said Theo, disappearing into the crowd.

Tori gave him a balefule look. "She dressed up nicer than you did," she said, looking at his suit. "You have a spot on it."

"What? Where?" he looked onto his clothes, searching for a speck of lighter or darker or maybe even brighter coloring, finally spitting it near one of the lower buttons. He groaned.

Tori raised her eyebrows. "For someone who doesn't want to be here, you're making a fuss over the rags _you_ wore."

He immediately stopped trying to pick the tomato sauce off his suit. "My rags still look better than hers."

Tori shook her head before he was even done with the sentence. "Her dress is gorgeous, Draco. And doesn't have a single spot on it."

Draco looked around, choosing to change the subject. "Is everybody here?" he asked, realizing nobody was coming in anymore "Where is she? Did she stand me up?"

"No," said Tori lightly, pointing to the top of the stairs, where a head could be seen peeeking around the corner. "She's there."

And there she was. When she moved into view, Draco was thoroughly stunned, and he wasn't the only one - there was a collective gasp that echoed throughout the room by girls and boys alike, because she truly was gorgeous. Her normally bushy hair was been tamed, trimmed and elboately and yet simply curled, and at the top of her head sat a crown of white snow blossoms, circling her brow like a halo. Her dress was tight at the top, and strapless, fitting very well and sparkling with diamonds that looked very real though he knew they must be fake. It clung to her curves, but the waist on down flared out, layer on top of see-through layer, creating a pure white, _shockingly_ white effect, and the waist was a spiderweb of elegant black lace, coming down like a cut lily pad to the general area of her knees. He couldn't see her shoes, as her dress reached the floor, but he knew they must be just as spectacular. And while her body and clothing made her stand out alone, it was the eyes that did it. Her eyes were a mixture of brown and gold, a tawny bronze color, a fiery delight in the ball and her appearance, anticipating the evening. Her skin glowed, her posture was perfect, and normally, every girl in the room would be jealous, green with envy - but this was Hermione, who everybody knew to be kind, and instead they took up a hint of her beauty and self-acceptance. In that moment, Hermione seemed to think she was just as beautiful as she was, which Draco knew to be a blindness of hers.

"Tori, make my suit into a tux," he ordered, not tearing his eyes from Hermione, who stood at the top of the stairs, scanning the room for him.

Tori did not question his motives, but did as she was told, and Draco found himself wearing a brand-new, state-of-the-art tuxedo that still looked ratty next to her dress. Tori smiled knowingly and gave him a shove toward Hermione. Draco caught her eye, and she smiled broadly, lighting up her already-beautiful face, and he could not help smiling back. He made his way through the crowd, waiting at the bottom of the stairs for her, everybody giving appreciative murmurs and cries as she descended one glorious step at a time. She reached the bottom, and he bowed deeply, holding out his hand. He felt a soft palm touch his own, a warm palm, and the touch got him excited about the ball, whether he wanted to be or not. Straightening, he heard somebody say to them, "Smile! For the Daily Prophet!"

They turned just in time to see a photographer snap their picture, Hermione smiling radiantly and Draco looking slightly cross someone had distracted him. As the photographer stuttered over how beautiful Hermione was and then bustled away, Draco heard the music start.

"Time to dance," she said, and even her voice was beautiful.

And then, moving onto the floor, Draco remembered who she was and who he was and that it was a cheap dress and that he didn't want to be here. And he frowned sullenly, fighting against the urge to forget all in his partner's beauty. As the first steps started, he was stiff and angry-looking; she noticed something was wrong, and she seemed to think it was with _her_. Noticing that behind her, Ron glared at him and then grabbed Lavender Brown and snogged her fiercely, he was startled enough to feel bad about an act he hadn't committed.

Suddenly wracked with a guilt he told himself he should not feel, he loosened up and smiled at her once again, whispering, "All pale in your presence tonight, Hermione."

She beamed at him so broadly he never wanted it to end; when it did, it was to be mischievously replaced by a sly grin, and she said, " _'__I dream when it's night'_ ..."

" '_I dream when it's day_,' ..."

" '_I dream of what I once did,_' ..."

" '_I dream of what I will say._' "

Their words blended perfectly into the movement, into the steps, and they danced fluidly in time with the poem. It wasn't long before they started trading lines and simply said them together.

" '_I dream of you, _  
_I dream of me, _  
_I dream we are together, _  
_Together we are free.' "_

He spun her around and caught her in a dip, bringing her back up, laughing with her.

_" 'I dream of sailing, _  
_Drifting on a cloud, _  
_I dream we are floating, _  
_And together we are proud._

_We are proud of each other, _  
_Of what we have done, _  
_Proud of the children, _  
_That haven't begun.' "_

Draco placed his hands on her hips and tossed her up, catching her again.

_" 'Don't wake me yet, _  
_I want to keep dreaming, _  
_Dreaming of a time, _  
_When we were dreaming together._' "

The music ended, and Draco realized he was unwilling to let go of her waist.

And then the Kensworth Champion was tapping his shoulder. Draco reluctantly let go of his partner, and watched as she bowed to the blond, moving himself off the dance floor and back to his spot on the wall, watching as Potter and Weasley started to dance, and then Longbottom and Luna went spiralling onto the floor gracefully. He was prepared to stand the rest of the ball, but a girl tapped his shoulder. It was Virginia Bradley, a Hufflepuff in his year. "Care to dance?" she asked, her honey-colored stick-straight hair reaching her chin and then curling in on itself. She had a pixie-like appearance and body(though nothing on Hermione), and he nodded, moving onto the floor with her, dancing awkwardly but discovering it woudn't kill him to have fun.

His eyes opened and he found himself staring at the face of Virginia, her hair slightly stringy, her skin flushed and her body completely nude. Looking at himself, he realized he was naked, as well. And looking at how their bodies were entwined...

"Oh, Merlin," he muttered, rolling over onto his back, noticing that they were right outside the prefect bath tub - not bath_room_, bath _tub_. The bubbles apparently from the previous night were slowly popping in the now-cold water and the air around them was scented heavily with perfumes from the very bubbles popping at his feet. The tile he lay on was cold, but his cheeks were warm, and he knew why, because there was a very familiar headache splitting open his scalp. He had a hangover, which meant he'd had drunk sex with a girl he barely knew.

He hadn't done that since fifth year.

Remembering, he smiled. Fifth year had beeen fun. When Pansy and he had had that fight, he'd retaliated by sleeping with a Ravenclaw he'd never met before after getting himself and her drunk. He'd enjoyed it so much, he'd made a hobby out of it - but when Pansy apologized, he'd dropped it right away, leaving behind a trail of angry mistresses who had calmed down and become ashamed of themselves in due course. He'd not slept with a woman since fifth year, caring too much for Pansy to spoil her like that before the marriage he proposed at the beginning of last year.

But waking up from this encounter, he found it wasn't that bad. In fact, he could remember Pansy's name without hurting now. And that was a huge improvement.

Virginia's eyes opened too, and she smiled, batting her eyelashes seductively again.

What the hell, he thought, leaning in to kiss her and get things started again.

But as soon as their lips met, the memory of kissing Hermione came back.

_For one split second, the only things that existed were she and he; there was no lethifold, no imminent threat of death, no darkness, no light, no snow, no fear - just them, their lips moving in synchronization as she furrowed her brow in concentration, trying her hardest to fill him with the happiness that seemed to evade him. She threw her arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around her waist, their body heat mingling, their hearts racing each other but exactly in time with the other._

He snarled, pulling away from the harlot he'd made the mistake of sleeping with. Surprised, she asked, "What's wrong?"

"Get out, get changed, and forget this ever happened," Draco growled between teeth he clenched so hard he thought his head might explode. He expected her to be angry, but apparently, she was used to that sentiment.

She laughed, but stood, looking around for her dress and seeing it in a heap with her other clothes and his tuxedo three or four feet away. "I'll never forget it," she said tauntingly. "That was fantastic, Draco. The best I've ever had. And _that_ is saying something." He didn't respond, but stared up at the cieling until she'd gotten re-dressed and snuck out the door. He sighed, hearing her footsteps fade away, and looked out the stain-glass window, where the mermaid watched him quizzically, snubbingly pure. The window was dark, meaning it was either very late or very early. This was how it had been when Pansy -

Sweet Salazar, his heart was ripping in half!

He choked out the dryest sob he'd ever heard, rolling over on the tile, clutching his chest and trying to hold himself together, feeling as if there was a spear stabbing him through entirely, puncturing the very middle of his heart. He bled not blood, but tears, and the spear was splintering him with not wood, but memories. He let his insides tear him apart, wave after wave of grief drowning him with each sentence he ever remembered her saying, the most painful one being _"Draco, you can replace me for a night, but that headache you get waking up is fate punishing you for ignoring the girl you know you love."_


	30. Chapter 31

Hermione opened her eyes smiling the next morning. Her feet were a little sore from dancing so much, but she was happy. Her dress hung from the top of the window's frame, the soft sparkles of the netted fabric sending diamonds of rainbows scattered across the room. The window was open slightly, and a cool draft eased over everything in sight, cooling the air and letting in the chirps and songs of birds that welcomed the morning. The sun shone brightly over the snow, which was still and perfect - it had apparently snowed late last night. Her lips refused to turn down at the corners, even when she felt exactly how sore her feet were. The atmosphere was crisp, and clean, and bright - it was the beginning to a perfect day. All the other girls lay still sleeping but Astoria - her bed was vacant, and when Hermione rose to feel the sheets, they were cold, which meant she'd been gone for a while. Opening the door slowly, she peeked out into the basic common room area.

There was a fire burning merrily in the fireplace, a happy glow coming from the window - and Tori and Draco were sitting on the love seat in front of the fireplace, his hands trembling and her murmuring, "It's alright, it's okay, shh, don't cry..."

And then Hermione realized that tears were coming from those silver eyes and were staining those pale cheeks; that the hair was rumpled and he looked overly-tired and slightly discombobulated. She opened the door a little wider, and stepped out, twisting the knob so the door wouldn't make a click, and closed it as quietly as she could.

"I feel... I don't feel... I know that... I don't know -"

"Shh, Draco, shh, it's alright, everybody makes mistakes -"

Draco dropped his head to his hands, and his whole frame quivered. She felt her heart go out to the poor boy wearing the tux he'd worn last night, which confused her, she felt it break when he choked on a word and what sounded like his heart. She advanced a step forward, her step silent, tears welling in her eyes when he said, "I wish I was d-dreaming, like this c-could all b-be a dream, that she'd s-still b-be here, waiting f-for me..." He took a deep breath at random intervals, making the sntence choppy and cutting her emotionally so that she took the notion to advance another step. Who was he talking about?

"Pansy wouldn't want -"

"Pansy's d-dead, Tori, and it's all m-my fault!"

Ah, so they were talking about Pansy. One tear spilled over listening to him suffer, and she advanced yet another step, completely unknown to them.

"It is _not_ your fault," said Tori, "You'd have died if you'd have stood up to him for her -"

One tear from his cheeks slid off his chin and onto the floor at the exact moment Hermione's single tear did.

Without speaking, without even a sound being made, she knew he knew she was there, and she froze in place, wondering and fearing what he'd do. He, however, didn't seem capable of aknowledging her, and simply said her name, though it sounded as if it pained him to say it.

"She's in there," said Tori, turning to point at the dormitory and seeing Hermione.

Thee were several seconds of the only sound being Draco's tears splashing to the floor.

"Right," said Tori, clearly uncomfortable. "So. I'm just... leaving. Draco, if you need me, you can follow," she said, though she didn't take her eyes off Hermione. She stood and turned to face the door, and froze, much as Hermione had, her eyes trained on the forest outside the window. "Is that..?" she whispered to herself, obviously not meaning for anyboy to hear. And then a moment later she shook her head and left. Confused by this behavior, Hermione moved to go to the window, but then realized Draco had moved and was glaring at her, bleary-eyed and still crying.

"Eavesdropper," he accused, struggling to stand and face her, looking as if he had a terrible headache. His words were slurred, she hadn't noticed - she'd thought they'd been thick with tears. However, he appeared to either be intoxicated or recovering from being so. Knowing how people acted in this sort of circumstance, she braced herself for any insult he could throw at her and reminded herself to be patient with him. However, the next thing out of his mouth was so shocking, so incredibly stunning, so terribly wonderful that she gaped at him, her jaw dropping open and her eyes bulging out of her head.

"Did... did you just call me beautiful?" she asked, her voice low, but strained.

"Your eyes," he said, his meeting hers, nodding to confirm his statement and her question about it. "They're her eyes."

"Pansy had brown eyes?"

He flinched away at the sound of her name. "Not brown," he said, "Kind of a chocolate, and sometimes lighter, a mix of gold and copper, a tawny-like color, sprinkled with whiskey-colored dots..."

His gaze still held hers, but in that moment, that one sustained moment, she felt he was looking not at her, but at Pansy.

"Drake?" she asked cautiously, taking a step forward. "Where did you disappear to last night?"

He saw her again, not his deceased friend. Hermione asked him this for two reasons: a) she wanted to change the subject and b) the last time she'd seen him, he'd been heading toward the refreshments table with Virginia Bradley, and then he'd disappeared for the night, leaving her without a date and free to dance with all (she certainly had her share of boys attempting to get her to dance with them). He, however, looked discerned and away from her, out the window.

He gave a little jump, all pretense of memories fading from his silver eyes and told her, commanding in his voice, "Behind me. Now."

Not bothering to question him, she moved to stand behind him, and then looked over his shoulder and saw the shape just in time to realize it was heading straight for them.

The lethifold once again burst through the window, shattering the glass. Draco turned is back as the shards flew and threw himself over her, knocking her down with himself on top of her, taking every sliver of the harsh material into his back, not once wincing in pain when he rolled off of her and onto said backside, pressing the leftover, jagged pieces of the window into his back.

And then there was the lethifold, gliding right up to Hermione, its cloak too thin - it hadn't eaten recently. It was hungry.

And she was going to be its next meal.

The cloak's edge slid over her shoulder and she felt something slimy attatched iself to her skin.

She screamed, long and hard, flailing, trying to get away, pushing herself from the cloak, but it had latched on and was pulled with her, gliding over more skin, reaching her neck now. Her screams rose in pitch when something sharp pierced the skin at the base of her neck and a liquid like water slid along the piercing instrument and into the hole in her skin, into her blood system; the effect was immediate. Her heart slowed to a rate unhealthy for humans, the wound in her neck bled freely and with much more gusto than it should have, and her mind went blank; she could think of nothing. With each pulsation of the thin liquid that entered her body, she felt her own thick liquid leave it, and a wave of pain immobilized her each time it happened. She heard nothing but her own high-pitched keening gurgle to a stop as the cloak slid over still more of her neck, her chest, and her heart beat slower still.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

The cloak was immediately ripped off of her, but she could hardly feel it. Her already-blurry vision was turning dark, and everything was popping in and out of focus. Her hearing wavered and her nose picked up half of a smell before giving it up and not smelling anything - her limbs tingled as if asleep, the prickling stabbing her like a thousand knives.

The last things she saw were a silver peacock fade above her and eyes to match it leaning over her; the last things she heard were Draco asking, his voice hardly existent, if she was alright, and footsteps like an avalanch coming from the dormitories as people responded to her shrieks.

Hermione heard voices, dozens of familiar voices, chattering away above her, their worried tones marred with despair. six voie stood out against the others in the background.

"Nothing about venom, or fangs - if I didn't know better, I'd say she was bitten by a vampire with defective venom."

"She'll be alright?"

"I hope so, Mr. Potter, we don't know what this venom is and so it'll be difficult to fight."

"What effects will it have?"

"Any range of effects, Mr. Weasley. She could recover back to fully normal or she could lay like that the rest of her life."

"You're trying your hardest?"

"Yes, Mr. Longbottom, and your Root of the Grimble-Toed Joestas were enough to stop the poison from spreading to her heart. Her mind, however, may not be so lucky."

"Can we help?"

"If she wakes, you will be helping just by being here, Miss Weasley."

"Do we know what attacked her?"

"A lethifold, Miss Lovegood, and now - ah, here we go, we'd better see if this works or if she'll need a more powerful dosage." She felt something sharp press against her wrist.

Her first thought was of the stabbing utensil she'd been subject to under the then-thin cloak of the lethifold, and her eyes flew open, and she screeched out, "_Stop_!"

Immediately, she was exhausted. Just the effort of shouting that loudly had made her heart beat so quickly she was reminded of the time she was five and had run around chasing the cat for two hours, stopping only when she realized she could feel her heart thrumming painfully in her neck. Now, her heart was beating the same way, as if she'd exercised passionately for two hours with no breaks, when in reality all she'd done was open her eyes and scream one word. She tried to take a deep breath, but it seemed the faster her heart pounded, the sower everything else was, and her lungs had trouble extending to fit the amount of air she knew she needed. She tried again, slowly this time, letting her heart rate settle down to a speed much too slow to be good for her and her lungs to flex outward, letting her breathe again. The people around her feel silent.

Looking around, she saw the faces of Ron, Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna, George, Molly and Arthur Weasley, Simis, Brant, David, McGonagall, Madame Pomfrey, Astoria, Millicent, Blaise and Theodore, all wearing an expression of the utmost horror at her voice being twisted to sound that panicked. She was staring up only at a very slight angle, and the lights in the room were bright, but the sliver of window she could see through the crowd was dark; she guessed she was in the hospital wing.

There was one person she didn't see. "Where's Draco?" she croaked.

Ron looked terrified. "Is her mind effected?"

She tried to clear her throat, but it was too dry. "He saved me, Ron, I... I..." her voice had disappeared after 'me', and she looked at Madame Pomfrey and mouthed _water_. She nodded and pointed to a cup on a nightstand Hermione could hardly see because she didn't have the strength anymore to turn her head and said, "_Auguamenti_," lifting a cup and holding it to Hermione's mouth, tilting it so the liquid lapped against her lips. She drank obediently, relaxing tiredly against her pillow and looking back up at the silent faces.

"He's fine, Hermione," said Harry, choosing his words carefully, as if speaking to a person with just seconds to live, wanting to say the right thing to them. "Madame Pomfrey fixed his wounds and sent him out. You, on the other hand -"

"_Where is our daughter?_"

Hermione knew the voice that was gripped by the same fear she'd experienced with the lethifold. And then her mother and father were shoving their way past and through everyone else to her side. Her mother's dark hair wasn't in its usual ponytail, but down and knotted like a rat's nest, and her father's eyes, the ones she'd inherited, looked down on her as if seeing an angel dying. "Hermione," he said, grabbing her hand with both of his and holding it tightly, his eyes filling with tears. Her mother had clamped a hand over her mouth.

"She should live, Jean," said Molly unsteadily to her mother.

"Look at her," her mother whispered, "Look at my baby."

Hermione hadn't realized how awful she must have looked, and had no idea how bad it was. She almost blushed, but there was no blood to rush to her cheeks anymore; she was drained almost entirely.

"Mommy," she tried to say, ending up barely mouthing it, "Daddy..." she couldn't finish her reassurance that she'd be fine, because the jury was still out on that one. She looked to David, whose mouth was set in a grim line, and he shrugged his shoulders, knowing as much as she did about the subject. She turned back to her parents just in time to see her mother burst into tears and her father bow his head as if praying with desperation, something he never did, because he was not a religious man. Her eyes flickered to Madame Pomfrey, who still had the needle in her hand.

"Miss Granger, we're going to need to inject this -" she started.

"No more," Hermione begged, "don't hurt me any more, please."

Her mother's tears took on a whole new level - she looked afraid to touch her own daughter for fear she'd die on the spot.

"Miss Granger, you will probably hurt a lot more for a lot longer if we don't put this in your system," said Madame Pomfrey, her face set like wood but her eyes paranoid and fretful.

Hermione couldn't nod, she couldn't move. "Fine," she said, trying her hardest to get the word out with as much power as she could; unfortunately, it came out as blurred as her vision had been when she'd been bitten. Madame Pomfrey seemed to understand, however, and pressed the needle sharply into the point right below her shoulder.

Hermione felt herself wine before sleep swallowed her whole.


	31. Chapter 32

Draco worked fervently for nights on end with Professor Slughorn, Madame Pomfrey and McGonagall, studying the lethifold venom. There had never been anything recorded about lethifold poison, but it seemed a superfluous killing method. Instead of swallow a struggling person whole, why not a freshly-dead body with the last remnants of life draining from their eyes? Though the thought made him, shudder, he never stopped working. Finally agreeing with the three others that it had the same qualities of a Vampire's venom when the vampire has been left in the sun, burned to ashes and then rehydrated and brought back to life, they looked up a cure for the venom of an un-dead un-dead vampire. Draco found six, and the others together managed to find only two, both of which he'd found. He was the one who stayed up late at night to fix the potion mistakes, as the books he'd pored over were old and innacurate. While the others left to teach, to eat, to sleep, he would never cease working, never stop looking for something to fight what Hermione was infected with. He was excused from all classes and assignments for the time being, because though the teachers understood not why he was trying so hard to fix something not his fault, nor why he refused to do things even for his own well-being just to help the girl lying in a coma-like state in the hospital wing, they understood he felt an obligation to help her, an obligation to save the damsel in distress, as they joked behind his back. He worked long hard hours, never taking a break once, never stopping for a drink, only ever searching, searching. Draco alone thought he understood why. She'd saved his life twice now, and he'd saved hers once, and he didn't want to owe Hermione anything. That was what he told himself for the hundredth time, the day before the second task, holding up the vial he believed contained the answer. The table he'd been working on was covered with scraps, little weeds, small stone chips, and one corner had been melted off. The floor at his feet was stained bright purple, almost neon, and his clothing was beginning to smell putrescent and was nearly in tatters, but he had the answer - he could help her, save her.

"Got it?" said a voice from behind him. Clutching the vial tightly, he turned to look at Potter, whose green eyes were serious and accompanied by purple bags nder them, his face drawn, though he had nothing on Draco when it came to bad appearance. Draco nodded.

Potter's face relaxed some, but he was still tense. "Malfoy," he said cautiously, "You saved her."

Draco nodded once more.

"Why?"

"She'd saved my life twice and I'm returning the favor," said Draco immediately. "I don't like being in debt."

Potter smiled sadly. "It's good you found it today."

"Why?"

"She woke up, demanded to see you, and as I left to fetch you she fell asleep again."

"Why are you here, then?" Draco asked, the vial beginning to become cold in his hands.

"Because Madame Pomfrey says they'll remove her to St. Mungo's if you don't get down there today. She says it's worse today than before, and she doesn't know why."

Draco repressed another shudder at the thought of her body lying completely still. "I'll be taking it to her, then, Harry," he said, moving to step around him.

"Draco," he said quietly, "You know, you're not so bad."

Draco froze. "Did you call me Draco?"

"Did you call me Harry?"

They looked at each other, a grim communiation passing between them. They both knew they valued Hermione's life to let it slip by them, and they both knew it wasn't in a romantic sense. They both knew the other was a good person and that they'd been idiots for the past seven years. and they both knew that something was desperately wrong with the circumstances - lethifolds popping up out of nowhere, and nobody being able to figure out what was going on. They both knew, right then and there, that a friendship was possible, but only if they worked really hard at it; and they both knew the other was willing, because it was obvious Hermione was friends with both of them now.

Draco held out the hand not occupied.

Harry shook it wordlessly.

They moved at the same time, walking in companionable silence to the hospital wing, saying not a word, each wrapped in their own thoughts; until they entered and saw the room in a state of chaos.

"What's going on?" Harry bellowed, and everyone froze but Madame Pomfrey, who was frantically searching Hermione's wrist for a pulse.

"Heart stopped beating," said Pomfrey, "The rate was too slow, just stopped all together."

Draco, without another thought, lunged forward, popped the cork out of the vial, tilted her head back, opened her mouth, and poured the liquid in, closing her mouth and pressing her nose down on it so she had to swallow, the whole time his skin alvie with the electricity from hers.

The room had obviously given up. Mr. Granger, holding his wife, was staring at his daughter as if watching an adorable beloved puppy being boiled to death, and Mrs. Granger was being hugged simultaneously by her husband, Arthur Weasley and Molly Weasley, looking as if everyhting in her head had gone compeltely blank. For that one frozen second, George had tears welling in his eyes, Ron was still in his attempt to sit down, and Harry was clutching his forehead, biting his lip in an effort not to scream. Madame Pomfrey and Mcgonagall, however, had already lost hope, for they both sat down on beds and sat very still, waiting for the moment to be over so they could cry, too.

And then Hermione coughed.

Draco drew his hand back immediately to let her breathe, and everyone around the room gave cries full of such relief and joy that he felt he was at the birth of a child; however, he felt detatched, as if he knew neither the parents or the child in question, but was there simply to bring about another baby into the world, to bring a life _to_ life - he was the doctor.

Hermione already had color flooding back in her cheeks, already looked strong enough to sit up, but stayed down, wary of what would happen if she didn't. She looked at Draco first, and said, loud and clear, "That's three time, unless I'm mistaken."

He was confused, until he figured out she was talking about the times he had saved her life, and then he was more confused. He shook his head. "Twice," he corrected.

She smiled sadly. "Believing your own lies, Draco. That doesn't ever end well."

He was more confused than ever, and then met her eyes.

_Out of his wand burst forth a majestic silver peacock, walking gracefully through the air toward the creature, assured, proud and confident; the lethifold, upon being touched by the animal who was waltzing through the air like a professional dancer, turned into puce green mist and fled out the window, breaking the glass as it disappeared into the night._

But that had only happened because...

_For one split second, the only things that existed were she and he; there was no lethifold, no imminent threat of death, no darkness, no light, no snow, no fear - just them, their lips moving in synchronization as she furrowed her brow in concentration, trying her hardest to fill him with the happiness that seemed to evade him. She threw her arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around her waist, their body heat mingling, their hearts racing each other but exactly in time with the other._

He looked and saw her eyes were reflecting the same memory; and, for a fraction of a tenth of a second, he was seized with the desire to kiss her again.

She looked away and at Harry. "When's the next task?" she asked, her full color seeming to be back, seeming to have all of her strength, but the wound on her neck not healing, just sitting there as it had for the past month and a half.

Harry grimaced. "Tomorrow."

Hermione paled again, and for a second, Draco feared she might fall back to sleep and never wake up; but then, when McGonagall said she didn't have to compete, the colore returned angrily. "I can do it," she said stubbornly, moving to sit up. Draco reached out and took a hold of her shoulder, helping pull her upwards.

Pomfrey bustled toward her. "You should rest," she said, but Hermione waved her off, trying to swing her legs over the side of the bed and stand, but ending up pitching forward.

Draco had caught her. she laughed unsteadily, and he realized where exactly her face was and how low he'd caught her, and brought her back up, both their faces tinged with an embarrassed pink.

Mrs. Granger, however, used her arms to encircle her daughter, crying tears of gratitude while Mr. Granger shook his hand. "You saved her life," he sound, now looking as if he'd discovered the bioled puppy had escaped somehow unscathed. "How can we thank you? Who are you, young man?"

"Draco Malfoy," he said honestly, shaking the man's hand back.

He pulled it back. "The one who called her a Mudbloodfor seven years?"

Draco smirked. "Six. I haven't called anyone... that name... since she was trapped in my house."

Hermione managed to pull away from her mother, looking sheepishly at her parents. "He's alright," she promised, ging to stand by him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

_"Leave her be, it's my fault, kill me too!" he begged an invisible person, trying to struggle out of his parents' grasp._

_"You can't save her Draco, save yourself," said his mother softly, her nails anything but as gentle as her tone._

_"Pansy!" he cried once more, seeing as he raised his wand, hoping it would be immediate, that her keening would end quickly. But no, no, of course not, that wouldn't be enough for someone like her, whom he wanted to torture - he had to get to her, tried to reach her, his fingers uselessly twitching out for her as his parents restrained him..._

"Draco. Draco, wake up."

Draco sat bolt upright, his back straightening, his eyes opening wide, his head still pounding with the dream/memory. He found that it was Harry who'd shook him awake, and that he looked perfectly calm - didn't he knew what he'd saved Draco from witnessing again?

"We're going," said Harry, nodding to Ron, who nodded curtly, clearly unhappy about the friendship sprung up between the two boys. "To dinner," he added, seeing Draco's expression. "We'll be back. Can you watch over her?"

Hermione's form lay still in her bed, and even though she'd been sleeping for over a month, she was still tired - apparently, fighting off the venom to the point of near-death took a lot out of you. Madame Pomfrey had been adamant in refusing to let Hermione leave until they were sure she was going to be alright, but Hermione, in response, had been adamant in pursuing her wish of competing in the second task. Though McGonagall had promised her she'd be able to continue on to the third without having to participate in the second, Hermione had found that as cheating, which she refused to do. And she was resting for that, as well. Draco looked over at the sleeping face and nodded.

"Thanks," said Harry, his stomach choosing to growl loudly. Draco smirked while he and Ron left and headed toward the Great Hall; however, he immediately began frowning again.

Granger's lips were moving in her sleep, and curious, he listened closely to hear what she was saying. He was surprised to hear that it was actually singing, and that she had a very good voice. the song was one he'd never heard before, very slow, and soft, like a ballad, in a language he didn't know.

_Esse fortis ad tuum anima._  
_Esse infirma ad tuum cor._  
_Sentire of thrum in tuum pectus._  
_Sic suus tantum committitur._

It was a chant-like melody, and her voice was clear and well-cut, as if she knew the words only by forgetting them, as if that made any sense.

And then her eyes fluttered open and met his.

He hadn't realized how close he'd gotten, but sometime during her song he'd leaned in so near her face her breath washed over him and her eyes seemed to become one with his. He could feel her body warmth through the sheets, heard the hitch in her breathing, and grew infinitesimally closer by the second, wanting to remember what her lips felt and tasted like without having to delve into his memories. It seemed those chocolate eyes were beckoning to him, calling for him to come closer, begging him to lean in.

His nose had just brushed hers when she closed her eyes in expectance, and the trance broke.

Pulling back immediately, he almost tipped the chair he was sitting on over, but steadied it, noticing how her eyes were open again, and confused. "Draco?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"Sleep," said Draco brusquely, disturbed by his lack of control, "you'll need it for tomorrow."

And, to his amazement, she did. Closed her eyes and fell right back asleep. He breathed a sigh of relief and was about to tell himself he was an idiot when her eyes flew open again.

"Is it weird to say I'm glad you're here and not somebody else?" she said, perfectly innocent.

Draco was entirely surprised, to say the least, and could not respond - his jaw agape, he watched her shrug and fall back to sleep, and only when he heard her snore did he slap himself as hard as he could, leaving a stinging red spot on his cheek. _She's Muggle-born, your parents will hate you. You don't even like her, but you're friends with her to help your family's reputation._ Help the reputation... would it help his or hurt hers if he dated her...?

He slapped himself again, on the other cheek, and then slammed his head agianst the wall to get it to shut up.


	32. Chapter 33

"It's Hermione!"

"Hermione!"

"Hermione, over here!"

"Hermione's back!"

The girl in question smiled weakly at everybody, her arm loosely around Harry's shoulders as he helped her to her seat. Walking long distances, like the Hospital Wing to the Great Hall, took a lot of energy she dind't have quite yet. But she draped her arm casually, to make it look simply like a friendly gesture instead of a helping one, so nobody would know but the one helping her. People applauded as she walked in, stood and cheered her, giving her a standing ovation. She was proud of herself and disappointed, too - she'd thought she could make the trek to the breakfast table by herself, but nobody seemed to care. Even the other prefects were standing, cheering -

All except Ron and Lavender, who were sitting, snogging the living daylights out of each other.

Her blood curdled. Hadn't he broken up with her vbecause he wasn't ready for a relationship? It certainly looked like he and Lavender had one. She frowned in concentration, keeping herself from swearing out loud. and then his blue eye looked at her, gauging her reaction - trying to make her jealous. She relaxed and smiled at him, taunting him, showing just how badly she was hurt by this outward display of emotion for Lavender. He broke away and smiled back, a little hesitantly, and then kissed Lavender with more passion than before. Sitting by Ginny and Luna, she let go of Harry and looked down the table at the food. Simis and Brant were joking with Seamus and Dean was whispering sweet nothings to Hannah Abbot, who looked flustered with compliments. Neville and Luna were holding hands and Harry and Ginny began doing so, aswell. Hermione felt like a fifth wheel sadwhiched between the two couples, but she didn't have feelings for anybody that way, so she really didn't care.

That's what she told herself.

She had picked up a piece of pie when Hagrid burst through the doors and jogged up to her, his footsteps shaking the Hall as they plodded heavily on the ground. He stopped behind her, panting. "Yer 'kay," he said gruffly. Hermione, without another word, managed to stand and grab him around the waist, hugging him tightly, trying not to let people she she was leaning on him for support, too, not just a hug. Pulling away, she smiled. "Got som'n' ter show yeh," he said. "Might a'well bring t'em other two, jus' ter be fair."

Confused, Hermione grabbed his arm, and when he looked as confused as she was, she asked, "You don't mind if I use you as a crutch, do you?" softly enough that nobody overheard, even as Hagrid beckoned to the other champions and they came up. Understanding crossed his face and he responded with an 'Of cour' I don', do I?' and then told them to follow him. People cheered as she left again, saying things like 'Go get 'em, girl!' and 'You show them!' Slightly embarassed, she hid her blush behind a curtain of her hair asthey walked out, keeping an eye on heer feet and trying to keep them moving so it'd look like she really was walking by herself.

Hagrid wouldn't explain where they were going, but she managed to get him to say it was for the second task, but that was all. But, as they walked on to the Quidditch Pitch outside, she saw the contraption.

It was active as she was an upward-going ramp that led to a wooden tank filled with, as she could see, water, with what appeared to be Craff-Mugrim Kabbels, swimming around freely, their long, tentacle heads swishing around as they fought with each other. There were only three, and with the fight raging, it looked like it'd soon be two - Hermione knew they were tempermental creatures who had a dominant personalities and territorial fighting skills. But there was a platform on the other side of the tank, leading right to -

"Fluffy," Hermione breathed in shock.

There was soft harp music playing beside the beast to keep him asleep, but it looked as if he had metal collars on all three of his necks, whch were low as the heads rested on the paws, snoring loudly. Hermione looked at him a moment more, and then her eyes moved on.

On a table were seven potion bottles, from tallest to shortest, filled with different colored liquids. There seemed to be a piece of parchment beside it, and Hermione was reminded forcibly of first year again, getting past the potions, though this time there was no fire. There seemed to be nothing in the way after this, but she saw the ramp go downward now. The whole structure was something to marvel at, and she did - she took no joy from it, however. The whole thing rather unsettled her.

"Hagrid," she said, "why is Fluffy out here?"

Hagrid smiled. " 'Member 'im, do yeh?"

Hermione tried not to smirk as she replied, "I find it likely I'll forget him."

Hagrid's smiled widened, and then shrunk. "He's here ter stop yeh from gettin' ter them potions."

"What's so important about the potions?" asked Hermione.

Hagrid gave her a look. "Cain' very well get pas' the wall, now can yer, wiffou' 'em."

"What wall?"

Hagrid pointed a large, beefy finger to the space behind the potions' table. Hermione looked for a moment, and then saw a shiver in the air - an invisisble wall.

"Wow," said Simis.

"Yes," agreed Brant. "Wow."

Hermione couldn't tear her eyes from the course. It had seemed simple, in a well-designed way at first, but now she felt it was growing and size and danger and that it towered over her, taunting her.

" 'ermione?" asked Hagrid, managing to catch her as her knees gave out. She huffed out a large breath of air as her stomach hit his tree trunk of an arm, but he was gentle in helping her back to her feet and letting her use his arm once more.

"I'm fine," she said softly, not meeting the eyes of anyone.

"You don't have to do this, Hermione," said Simis shortly, his eyes still glued to his feet, not looking anywhere but the ground of the tent.

"I do," she disagreed, though somewhat pleased he wasn't still mad at her for slapping him.

"You don't," said Brant, also staring downward as if the earth beneath his shoes was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

Somewhat bemused, she repeated, "I do."

Though on the outside she acted nervous but confident, on the inside, she felt as if she'd already passed the task. She could get past Fluffy easily, and she knew she'd be able to get past the potions. The main problem arose with the tank full of Craff-Mugrim Kabbels, or probably only two, really, but she tried not to dwell on that though she knew she should. she had no plan; she'd had no time to devise one. She heard the crowd outside chattering animatedly.

"Pssst," she heard someone on the outside of the tent say, "Hermione."

Hermione, curious, stood and walked towards the sound, trying to recognize the voice, and realizing it was Harry's. "Harry?" she asked, pressing her ear against the thin flap and was reminded forcefully of fourth year, when their roles had been reversed.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked.

She smirked. "Fine," she answered. "Confident, really. I cn do this."

"The key is to concentrate," he said. she bit her lip to keep from laughing, nd it sounded like he was doing the same thing. "After that you just have to -"

"- get past a tank with Craff-Mugrim Kabbels, Fluffy and a semi-invisible wall by way of a potions riddle."

"Yeah."

She was laughing silently to herself, and knew he was doing the same on the other side. Determined to make this conversation like the one where they'd had each others' lines, she flew back the tent flap and hurdled herself into his surprised arms, squeezing him tightly, his knotted black hair tickling her forehead and his glasses askew. she giggled, he chuckled, and they both laughed until Hermione heard McGonagall from inside the tent saying, "Where's Miss Granger?"

Hermione released Harry. "Go to the stands," she ordered, smiling at him reassuringly, and he did the same as he tured and left while she re-entered the tent.

"Ah, there you are," said McGonagall. "Right then. Well, I trust Hagrid's somewhat heated and showed you the course?"

"Them aswell," said Hermione, nodding to the two boys.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Really? I'd have thought it would have just been you. Right. Well. Alphabeticalm order once more, you've all seen the task, get past the wall without being incapacitated or killed and you pass the task."

Hermione gave a start. "I thought the tasks weren't supposed to be fatal."

McGonagall gave her an icy look, but Hermione knew the ice wasn't meant for her - it was ice meant for the lies of Kingsley. "They're not. Go on, Miss Granger. You've lived through everythig else, this course should be of no difficulty."

And so Hermione walked out of the tent, slightly hesitant, not quite as confident as before, and the crowd fell immediately silent. there was no canon blast this time, and the course itself just sat there. but Fluffy's head moved a fraction of an inch, and she met its six eyes. And then it roared so loudly, that even from that far away she could feel her bones shake in her skin. She covered her ears with her hands and closed her eyes, but it made no difference. He wanted her dead, and she could tell. But first, to get past the Kabbels.

As Fluffy quietted and she looked at the tank, she saw only one tail towards the surface instead of two - so, there was half of the danger she'd feared. Unfortunately, it meant she had to face the strongest - which it undoubtedly was, because it alone had survived - while it had no chance of being distracted by a competing Kabbel, and that did not bode well for her. But she walked up the ramp anyway and looked down into the tank, wondering how to get across. The crowd watched every move as if their looking away and then back would find her dead at the bottom of the tank.

Hermione thought. She could create stones to jump across, but it would grab her the first chance it got. she could levitate herself, but she would only float, not fly across and land. She could decide to fight the beast, but that scared her. She could turn the water to ice, but it'd break through it quickly if it had the willpower and desire to eat her. That last one gave her the best chance of getting across, and she pointed her wand at the water, and said, "_Glacio_."

She saw the cover of the water freeze instantly and the clear but streaked substance seep downward and convert the liquid to a solid as it went; reaching the bottom, where she could make out the shape of a waiting Kabbel, and coating it and its surrounding in frozen H2O.

She immediately began to bolt across the ice, forgetting that it would be slick in her haste to get to the other side. She fell almost immediately and the crowd gasped as one. She struggled to rise, ut ended up falling with each try, her confidence vanishing with every attempt.

And then she became still as she realized the ice was shaking underneath her. Hardly daring to look down, she saw the Kabbel's reptilian-styled scales undulating as it cracked the ice around it and the fractures ran upward until it reached the surface; the ice split and Hermione found herself on an island of ice. Knowing what would soon happen, as the Kabbel was climbing, she dug her nails into the cold underneath her and hoisted herself upward.

But the Kabbel's long-clawed hand shot out of the gap and grabbed her ankle, pulling her back down. She screamed in terror, clutching onto the edge of the iceberg and barely keeping hold of her wand, hoping it wouldnt try and eat her right away and that it would wait until she was out of plain sight before it began to devour her. The crowd gasped again.

And then the ice from the bottom began to melt.

Her spell had worn off when her wand had somewhat slid out of her grasp and had tapped the ice; it now began to melt into a pool of water, and Hermione felt her ankle being covered in frigid water, and she kicked uselessly to get the Kabbel off her. It was, however, of no use. the Kabbel was best in water, and it was much stronger than her, and it began to drag her in.

"Come on, Hermione!" shouted Harry, his voice distant and panicked. "Use your wand! Come on!"

Hermione didn't want to let loose one of her hands and therefore her grip on the fast-melting ice, but she knew she had to. She raised her right hand to cast the spell -

And her left one wasn't strong enough to hold her in place, and she was dragged completely under, her screams gurgling up as bubbles to the top of the water.


	33. Chapter 34

Hermione struggled and screamed in blind panic, her limbs flailing about uselessly in the water. She could feel the frigid temperature taking its toll. Her fingers and toes were going numb and the hair on the back of her neck was standing straight, even in the waves that circulated around her body, which was slowly shutting down to preserve body heat. She couldn't feel her wand in her hand anymore and that seriously terrified her more than her situation; without the wand in her palm, where it fit perfectly, she felt useless and sure of her death. Her lungs needed air immediately, and they were burning; her struggling limbs were sowly, and without her permission, ceasing to move. And the worst part of her situation was that the claws and the teeth of the Kabbel were slashing at her, cutting her skin and tinting the water around her crimson. She was weakening by the second. She forgot for a moment she was incapable of getting oxygen, and tried to breath in; she gulped large amounts of water, which clawed at the back of her neck.

She tried desperately to fight the being off of her, but it was too strong and too hungry to ignore. She was fighting blindly, inable to see anything past her blood floating around her, inable to feel anything but the swipes of the Kabbel and the stings of the cuts being doused. She was crying now, the tears mixing with the water around her, and then - like a godsend - she felt the familiar wood of her wand in her hand, still warm from when she'd held it last.

She would have sighed a sigh of relief had her lungs not been screaming as she had been. Instead, she used a breath to make the water less cold, as she already couldn't feel anything waist-down. "_Calesco_," she said, not hearing anything but knowing immediately it had worked, because the sub-zero temperature that had engulfed her had turned a lovely bath-water warm, and the Kabbel was shocked for one second.

"_Ascendio_," she said, again hearing nothing; but she felt herself being propelled up and out of the water. As soon as her face touched air, she gulped in a great amount of air, opening her eyes and hearing the screams of the crowd. The Kabbel's shriek of fury arose from the depths of the tank as she scuttled herself away from the it, seeing how the water and blood rolled off of her skin and clothes and onto the wooden planks beneath her.

There was a moment of silence from both the crowd and her, and then she vomitted. She vommitted extra blood she hadn't already lost and she vomitted the water she'd taken in instead of air. The crowd gasped as her stomach curled in and around itself, twisting itself in knots and pushing out the minimal breakfast she'd had. The people watching her were revolted, as was she. There she was, having almost died, bleeding and soaking wet and sitting in her own puke. The smell nauseated her, and she held her stomach for a moment, letting herself breathe once more. She looked up. Fluffy was staring at her with three different expression from farther along the wooden planks. One head looked at her as if she had utterly bamboozled him, another looked at her suspiciously, and the last looked at her with nuetrality. She was shocked to see that none of the heads were looking at her as if she was food or a threat. But she was dizzy and had to resist the urge to lie down right then and let herself sleep.

She stood.

"Fluffy?" she asked, barely making a sound, her throat too scratched from the water to make much noise.

The dog cotninued to stare at her, sitting on its haunches.

She took a step forward.

Fluffy didn't move.

She took another step and her left knee, which she'd been leaning on, gave out. She toppled forward, directly in front of the dog, earning nothing but more blood-seeping gashes from the rough splinters and crude nailwork. Her forehead hit the board hard and she was dazed for a few moments, laying there, and to the crowd, it looked as if she had died.

And then a huge, rough tongue licked her back.

She looked up with much effort and the crowd sat like anxiously-carved statues watching her, waiting for her to rise or give up. Fluffy looked at her, all three heads, quizzically, and then the second/middle head licked her again. The first head's nose nuged her softly, and the third head whimpered.

"Good dog," she murmured, lying her head back down and closing her eyes.

There were three wet, velvety noses shoving at her gently, their high whining ringing in her ears. She felt her head's senses spinning, their alertness fading quickly.

"Hermione!" shoute Draco. "Get up! Please! Get up!" His voice broke on the last word, and his voice was thick. He sounded even more desperate than she had felt fighting the Kabbel. But the wood was so welcoming and comofrtable, and she could just close her eyes.

"_Please_!"

No. She would not give up. She'd never give up. She'd get through this task and she'd get through it easily. Her wounds were but a small obstacle in her way. She raised her head, and for the second time, Draco's eyes in the crowd met her own.

She never new exactly what was in those eyes that day, as she tried to forget it with much passion. But it propelled her forward and Fluffy helped her stand, licking her and nosing her along until she was past it and standing in front of the potion table. She tenderly picked up the parchment.

_Among these seven, one is right._

_The opposite will be aligned._

_They're positioned in a row_

_So we give these hints to help you go:_

_The correct is not thin nor terribly thick;_

_nor does it have a detail that will prick._

_I am primary but not completely full_

_And I will not turn you into a bull._

_I can make you ghostly without death_

_and you could live forever without another breath_

_given you take me upon the hour,_

_and not at the top of a rather tall tower._

_So now, choose me, if you dare!_

_And walk through the wall blending into the air!_

Hermione stared at the riddle on the parchment thoughtfully, and then looked at the potions. _'not thin nor terribly thick_' she thought. so that illiminated the pink potion and the blue one, at least, and possibly the red and orange ones. '_nor does it have a detail that will prick_'. She looked closely - there, on the orange potion bttle, was a tiny ornament of a sword, silver, glinting and looking to be sharp. So the orange, blue and pink were out. '_not_ _completely full_'. The blue was the only one that was filled to the brim - no, wait, the orange/tan/pink-ish thick-looking ption on the end was completely full, aswell. '_I_ will not turn you into a _bull_'. This seemed to refer to the potion's uses, and not the containers or amounts. She could only think of one potion that might have been one of the colors; the red one, where you brewed the potion, stuck in the hair of the animal they want to turn someone into, and had them drink. Generally used for people who couldn't transfigured, and didn't want someone easily undoing their work. But the next four lines confused her. '_I can make you ghostly without death and you could live forever without another breath given you take me upon the hour, and not at the top of a rather tall tower.'_ What did that mean? Ghostly without death... there were two potions she could think of that coyuld do that, depending on the meaning. Vix Ibi and Diaphanum would both make you something like a ghost. Live forever without a single breath... if you were to add a ghost's nose hair to the potion Diaphanum, you'd be able to live without breathing for a limited amount of hours, and doing the same to Vix Ibi weakens the result time to an hour at most, because it was a much more over-all potent potion. But not at the top of a rather tall tower? She couldn't think of anything like that in either potion -

Wait! Yes, yes she could! Vix Ibi depends with great force on air pressure, and towards the top of a rather tall tower the air would be very thin and the potion would barely work, if at all. But which one was Vix Ibi?

She looked curiously at the two potions she hadn't eliminated - the green one and the golden one. She had no way of knowing, as Vix Ibii had a range of color possibilities, depending on the ghost's nose hair thickness, and both of the colors were possibilities. Was there something she hadn't gone over? She looked at the parchmennt again. Reading the first line, she got it. '_Among these seven, one is_ _right_.' The rest of the potion had referred to it as 'correct'. The potion had to be on the right side. It was the golden one. And gold was also yellow... 'I am primary'. That had to be the one!

Discarding the parchment and letting it drift to her feet, she grabbed the golden-filled flask and uncorked it, swallowing about a third of the potion, leaving the other two thirds for Simis and Brant, if they got that far.

She got the feeling she usually did when putting on a disillusionist charm. Looking down, her body was rippling through the air almost invisibly, like the wall in front of her. The crowd gasped, having to look with some difficlty to see her. She smiled, proud of herself, and walked around the table and through the wall. As soon a she was completely through it, she was doused in cold water, and the crowd watched, cheering and applauding, while she sputtered off the water that had erased the effects of the potion - water borrowed from the thief's downfall at Gringotts.

There was pandemonium in the stands. People were screaming at her, at each other, at strangers, they were clapping and shouting and cheering, they were hugging each other and sighing with relief, and she saw Harry kiss Ginny in jubilation, while Neville did the same thing to Luna, and Ron kissed Lavender -

Her spirits went crashing down.

_I thought he wasn't ready for a relationship,_ she thought, her eyes tearing again and the hot liquid almost spilling over. She blinked it back.

And then McGonagall was hugging her, and Kingsley was hugging them, and everybody that could reach her tried to and succeeded in hugging the sad, victorious eighteen-year-old who tried to laugh through unshed tears.

Madame Pomfrey made a_ tsk, tsk_ing sound and shook her head disapprovingly. "Tasks were entirely too violent for you," she muttered, "So weak already..."

"I finished it, didn't I?" Hermione demanded, wincing slightly as Pomfrey dabbed Essence of Murtlap onto her many lacerations.

"And a lot of good it did you!" said Pomfrey in true school-nurse form. "Lying here, cut up and bloody and doused in vomit and water and with traces of Vix Ibi in your system..." she shook her head again. Hermione smiled.

"I _did_ do me good," she said. "I now have a huge, monstrous threeheaded dog as my friend. How is that not good?"

"What if it gets hungry and you get too close?"

"I give it food," said Hermione simply, reducing Pomfrey to once again muttering and shaking her head.

"Hermione!" shouted Harry, bursting through the curtain around her bed and smiling widely. "You did it!"

Hermione smiled. "Yep," she said.

Ginny burst in after Harry, her bright red hair flying behind her. "You did it, Sua!" she cried, throwing her arms around Hermione's tender neck, which stung once and began to throb. Hermione ignored this, and said, "I don't think that's going to catch on."

Ginny laughed. "You're right," she said. "You're Hermione, and always will be."

Harry nodded. "You'd think it'd be simply, saying that," he mused, "When she's one of the most complicated people in existence."

Hermione smiled. "You're saying that because boys don't understand girls."

Harry disagreed, "I understand Ginny fine."

Luna came almost dancing through the curtains, Neville following her. "Hello," she said. "You look terrible."

Hermione grimaced. "I know."

Ron and Lavender then came through the curtains, LAvender hanging on his arm like a drapery and him looking slightly flustered, his lips - and hers - swollen and bright red. They'd been snogging.

"Five visitors!" shrilled Madame Pomfrey. "Only five visitors!"

Hermione turned icily toward Ron. "You two can leave," she hissed, shocking him. "I have reason to expect somebody I don't mind at the moment."


	34. Chapter 35

"You did it again," Hermione accused.

Draco, sitting next to her, smiled. "Saved your arse with a few supporting cheers? I am _good_."

Hermione smiled, too, relaxing back into the loveseat as she scribbled furiously on a piece of parchment. Draco watched her intently, looking occassionally at the words she wrote.

"You know that's not due until Thursday," he said, pointing to the essay she was working on.

"With me, Draco, it might as well be due in an hour."

"What's that to mean?" he asked, curious.

Her smile widened. "I'm not waiting until the last minute."

"I don't," he defended immediately.

"You do," she argued. "Do you even know what this essay is about?"

He thought for a moment. "Erm... the... the..."

She grinned triumphantly. "I didn't think so."

"I wouldn't have to know if someone would do it for me," he said, leaning back as well, his eyes trained on her faintly flushed face.

She snorted and placed her quill down. "You're smart enough not to need me to do it."

"Two responses," said Draco. "One - gee, thanks. Two - who said anything about _you_ doing it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Who else would you be talking about?"

"Maybe Lovegood. She's a Ravenclaw, right?"

Hermione gave him a look. "That doesn't automatically make her a homework slave."

"_You_ being a nerd doesn't make _you_ an automatic homework slave, but you are."

"Hey!" she laughed, taking a small cushion and hitting him in the head with it. "I'm nobody's slave!"

"What's this?" asked Blaise, sitting down. "Slave? To who? For what?"

Hermione flushed red. "Nobody, and homework." Embarrassed, she picked up her quill and resumed writing.

"You were Weasley's slave for six years, Hermione," said Draco jokingly.

Her quill went straight through the parchment and she rose immediately, glaring at him, gritting her teeth against ready-to-fly insults before she slammed the door behind her as she entered the girls' dormitory.

"What did I say?" asked Draco, confused and a little upset. What had he said that was so bad? Only that she'd been Weasley's slave for six yea... Sweet Salazar, he was an idiot. It sounded like a romantic slave, and for six years, to her ex-boyfriend who'd kissed another girl in front of her. He slapped himself with force, leaving his cheek stinging. "Damn, I'm stupid."

Blaise nodded, having come to the same conclusion. "Yep, you are." He glanced toward the window. "Getting dark. Don't you and Hermione have patrol?"

"Damn," Draco said again, slapping his other cheek. Blaise laughed.

"Don't beat yourself up," he joked. Standing from his seat, he clapped Draco on the shoulder. "You gonna talk to her, or...?"

"I'll patrol without her," he said straightaway. "She doesn't need to see the likesof me anytime soon."

Blaise gave him an odd look, as if knowing soemthing Draco didn't.

"What?" he demanded.

Blaise shook his head. "Get over Pansy, mate."

Draco was so unprepared for the sentence, and the name in it, that he nearly toppled off the seat. "W-what?" he sputtered angrily, jumping to his feet.

Blaise raised his hands a if to say 'I surrender'. "I'm just saying," he said, "That if you got over loving somebody dead you'd be able to love somebody who's not."

Draco clenched his fists tightly. "I will never love," he spat tightly, through teeth shut as tightly as his fists. He felt his nails dig into his palms. And as an afterthought, he added, "Again."

Blaise sighed. "Fine, whatever. But when you realize you already are, don't come crying and shouting about how Pansys the only -"

"Don't say her name as if she's a old piece of trash to disregard," he growled, his nails cutting his skin like little daggers.

Blaise looked surprised. "No, she wasn't trash, Draco, never trash, she was my friend too. But you need to move past -"

"Don't tell me what to move past. I notice you haven't looked at another girl since you went with Liccy to the Yule Ball. That's like being stuck in a rut."

"We're dating!" Blaise exclaimed, throwing his hand up. "You're -"

"Engaged!" Draco shouted back. "We're engaged, even if the wedding can't ever happen."

Blaise seemed to let that sink in, and then relaxed his posture. "That's... Draco, this isn't right. Move on."

"Forget Pansy? My first friend, my first love, my only love, my fiancee? No."

And with that, Draco turned forcefully, knocking into Blaise's shoulder with gusto, and flung open the door, stepping out and slamming it behind her.

_That makes two people slamming doors because of the mention of their ex-lovers_, he thought. He swept through the hall angrily, thinking only of Blaise's words, how stupid they were, how wrong he was. How could anyone get over somebody like Pansy?

He stormed past room after room alone, looking for trouble, for anybody to yell at. He stalked past ghosts and shouted at them to leave; he walked past a stray toad and managed to restrain himself from kicking it; he walked past an open classroom door and shut it loudly. He didn't know where he was going, but eventually he found himself standing in the halway where he and Hermione had kissed.

He stared intently at the wall where she'd been...

_For one split second, the only things that existed were she and he; there was no lethifold, no imminent threat of death, no darkness, no light, no snow, no fear - just them, their lips moving in synchronization as she furrowed her brow in concentration, trying her hardest to fill him with the happiness that seemed to evade him. She threw her arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around her waist, their body heat mingling, their hearts racing each other but exactly in time with the other._

He shook his head, trying to clear it, but came across another memory instead.

_Her lips were moist with her tears, and that was odd; she didn't cry. Unless she couldn't help it. Alerted by the saltwater stains, he knew something was terribly wrong. But he found it so hard to focus when she was kissing him like this. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and pulled her so close to him he could feel the individual stutters of her heart as his fingers massaged smooth circles on her hips. She, in response, used her hands to do the same to his neck. His skin was aflame with the feel of her and he pulled her closer, but they were as close as could be. He backed up into his head and fell down, her on top of him. for a moment, they lay there, panting, gauging the reaction of the other; and then they kissed once more with a passion that could only be described as lust as the thin layer of clothing between them was removed._

No!

He would not think of his time with Pansy. He would not remember how she'd explained why she'd cried and how terrible he'd felt and how soft her eyes had been, a chocolatey color, melting like fondue and enveloping him like he was dipped in it. Eyes so similar to Hermione's.

No, it was the other way around. Hermione's eyes were similar to Pansy's. That was it, and final. similar, not the same, because only Pansy's eyes could ever make him melt like they could, strip him of the mask he had so carefully etched into his face.

He didn't hear the footsteps or the voice until Goyle had rounded the corner and spotted him.

"You're out late," he remarked casually. "I'd get to bed. No idea what's wondering around the castle right now."

"Like back-stabbing, murderous traitors?"

Draco was taken aback. He'd had no communication with Goyle, as he'd never liked him, since the end of last year, but he'd no idea that the words would come out so vehemently. As it was, his old friend's eyes looked at him angrily, furiously, barely concealing his hatred, and the paper Goyle had been reading at a two-year-old's level was dropped, drifting slowly to the ground as a leaf would in the fall.

"Greg?" asked Draco, confused.

And then Goyle flew at him.

"It's!" He punched Draco's stomach, knocking the wind out of attempted to block, but wasn't expecting the punch so be so strong, and it hit him full-force, knocking him backwards.

"Your!" he swung his thick right fist into Draco's jaw, and he clutched it, uttering a cry of pain he hoped nobody heard.

"Fault!" He landed a square blow on Draco's left eye, which he felt began to immediately swell.

"He's!" He kicked Draco's side viciously, and Draco fell to his knees, beding over and clutching his ribcage.

"Dead!"

And Draco heard something wooden smack him over the head and Goyle yelled, "_Crucio_!"

His body was on fire. Not the kind of fire Pansy had stoked in him, nor the kind of fire that resided angrily in Hermione's eyes when she was upset. The kind of fire that reduces every blood cell to a grain of ash, every vein into just another burnt fuse, every molecule of his being into worthless cinder. He bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming, and had to cotinue to bit eso har blood rushed to fill his mouth with salty, sour taste. He spit it out, only to have Goyle sock him in the teeth. He knew at least three were knocked out and he knew many more were loosened, but the Cruciatus curse, amplified by a punch to the mouth that resulted in yet more blood to lose, made him so dizzy the air couldn't circulate fast enough and let him think. This lack of thoughts is what made him unable to defend himself when the curse lifted and Goyle's leather shoes struck his stomach and made him whimper in pain. He curled up, only to have Goyle kick his head away from his body to keep wailing on his torso.

Draco had forgotten, in the physical asault, that he could fight back. And when he realized, he was missing six teeth, was coughing up blod, and his stomach was swelling with nasty shades of blue and black. His jaw was so swollen he couldn't speak, and he was glad; he didn't want anybody to hear and come to find him, and get themselves beat up, too. If it was just him, nobody else had to hurt. But he managed to grasp his wand tightly enough to think the word _Protego_ and see the silver sheen of a barrier pop over himself, and Goyle, leaping at him too late to realize his mistake, go flying backwards.

Draco struggled to sit up, but managed. _Ligare_, he thought, trying to point his wand at the boy, but with the lack of shield, Goyle had started on him again.

He grasped his golden hair and tugged him to his feet; he dropped his wand, and, to his dismay, Goyle stomped down hard on it. He heard a snap. And then Goyle bent his head backwards and kicked the behind of his knees, causing them to hit the floor painfully while he neck and back were arched in an uncomfortable positon, made even more uncomfortable by the fact that he was strtching the interior stomach wounds he'd created.

"_Augamenti_," said Goyle wickedly, smiling evilly at Draco's mangled body. And then water dumped itself over his face, streaming down his nostrils, into his eyes, and down the wrong pipe in his throat. He coughed and sputtered, but each time he opened his mouth for air, more water came in. Goyle was going to drown him.

He was going to die.

But with one last urge of his mind to preserve himself safely, he kicked his ankles out from underneath himself and lay flat on the ground instead of arched; his stomach vibrated with the blow from behindand he could not help but shout an incoherant interjection.

"Stop," he tried to beg, but Goyle had alrady gotten used to this, and had elbowed him in the chest, making him cough up a mixture of clear and crimson. He continued to elbow Draco'schest and knee his stomach while shouting 'Auguamenti!' at every opportunity. Draco tried to keep his mouth closed, tried not shut his eyes, but Goyle would strike his face every time he did so, and the blow with no air was worse than just no air. Water flooded his system, his throat, and he found that he was choking on the bile that had arisen from his throat. He tried to give one last mangled cry, but it wouldn't come out.

"Draco?"

No, no, _no_!

Hermione, get away, he thought, but he didn't have the strength left to say it. Goyle, however, froze, but only for a moment, before leaning down, whispering, "Crabbe's dead because of you. You're going to get a lot more of this shitstorm, Malfoy, just wait," and then aiming one more lick at a rather large, unsettlingly putrescent bulging bruise from Draco's stomach, making the water flow up and douse his face all over again, mixed with vomit and blood, before he high-tailed it out of the hallway. Draco, now covered in the most vile mixture of bodily fluids he could think of, found, with some relief, that he could breathe, but his whole body stung and screamed and pleaded him to end the misery.

There was a familar gasp, and then a horrified, fear-riddled, anxiety-torn shriek of "_Draco_!" before he found himself spinning uncontrollably into the abyss that had welcomed Pansy before him.


	35. Chapter 36

"Draco? Draco? Draco, please! _Draco_!"

Hermione's hands flitted frantically over the mashed and mangled body in front of her, feeling for a pulse, but not stopping until she'd found it in every place she knew to look. She trembled violently when she placed her hands on his chest and pushed, trying to get him to exhale, as she didnt think he was breathing - to her shock and disgust, water, blood and vomit burst from his lips. She reeled back, away from the vile fluids, thinking that mixture could only be worse with urine. And remembering what state she'd been in halfway through the last stage, she took a deep breath, and leaned her head down to the chest she'd just pushed on, and listened for breathing. It was there, but the air was only a faint wisp of oxygen floating down to his lugs and back up, and his heart rate was slowing by the millisecond. She wrung her hands nervusly, eyes wide and ears open for any indication of somebody coming, so they could help -

No. If somebody came, they might be the person that did this to him. Did she really want that person anywhere near her? But she had scared him off, unless he'd left Draco for dead before she arrived, in which case he might come back at any moment, realizing he had yet to dispose of the body. But she needed somebody's help! She was so worried, her head was pounding, and she thoughht of never seeing those grey eyes open once more. Was it better to leave him, and go for help and come back with it? But who could she trust at the moment? It might be the person that did this to him! Unless he did it to himself...?

Trusting was Hermione's nature, but she was also supremely intelligent; she knew that he had not done this to himself, but she wanted help and get do that you must trust, so she went with that theory. Was it better to find help and come back? But he might die while she was gone, she didn't want that to happen. So, take him with her and go and get help? Possibly, but how was she to carry him? Levitating him would be too creepy, it'd be like a burial for a corpse, and she couldn't think of that in relation to his problem. Take him immediately to Madame Pomfrey? How was that any different from the other option? The only one left she could think of would be...

His breathing was becoming strenuous and less often; she could no longer bear it. Whipping out her wand and pointing it at him, she said, "_Sano_."

Immediately, she heard him gasp a large lungful of air he probably considered blessed, and his eyes flew open.

"Draco!" she cried, swooping down and hugging him tightly, relieved that he was alive, waking, looking at things, and that she had seen his eyes once more.

"Let... go," he coughed painfully, and she did so, pulling back immediately. His mouth was still open, and she saw that he was missing several teeth; anger burrowed into the pit of her stomach at whoever had caused him this pain, but she shoved it farther down still; this was a moment where everything was about _him_.

"Should I take you to the Hospital Wing?" she asked, her trembling residing some.

He tried to shake his head, but ended up uttering such an innocent moan of agony she felt everything inside of her resort to tears. It was a miracle she did not cry on the outside, but this was about _him_, and her crying would _not_ help. "No," he managed to get out past what appeard to be tears in his throat. It appeared to be more and more difficult for him to speak, as his jaw was swolen past to the point of disfigurement.

For one moment, his eyes met hers.

In that moment, she got a message: A message that he needed help, but wanted nobody to know it, and not because he was male, but because of something deeper, something permanently rooted inside of him to the point of automatic defense. She nodded sharply, and set to work.

"_Sano_," she said again, her wand at his jaw. His closed his eyes tightly against the hurt of the healing, and she felt momentary guilt, but continued on as his jaw returned to normal. He tried to keep his eyes open as she went on healing the rest of his body, but sometimes the pain was too much and he would have to shut his eyes, and without the grey orbs to guide her, she always felt lost and confused, uncertain about whether the outcome would be sufficient. He always managed to open his eyes, though, and she knew that as long as he could function, be it painfully or otherwise, they'd be enough.

She'd never considered healing. She had always assumed she'd take S.P.E.W. up a couple levels, make it a public wizarding organization, but she seemed to be doing extremely well on the Draco front. He'd gradually stopped closig his eyes, and they were trained on her face as she moved downward onto his thighs.

Uncomfortably, she looked at him, her cheeks slightly flushed. He shook his head slowly, and she nodded, skipping the... erm, certain section... which she assumed was fine. But she rolled his pants up to his knees and inhaled sharply. His stomach had been much worse, but on the inside - the outside of his knees were now gnarled and blue all over, though sometimes the blood covered it, and she actually saw bones sticking out of the skin.

"Good Lord, Draco," she muttered, "How did this happen?"

"I suppose that happened when I landed on them. Or maybe when I straightened my legs out afterward."

She looked at him sharply, and awaited more explanation, but he seemed welcome to taunt her with knowledge she didn't hve and he did. She might have been upset at this, but she was so relieved and glad that he was okay and acting like himself again she completely forgot everything and smiled at him, reaching over to hug him again.

She paused as she was bending her head down to his level, and their eyes met for another second.

The message was slightly altered. Behind those steel walls, there was a mind in desperate need of assistance. and Hermione was a very helpful person.

"Don't," he whispered, "Please."

Hermione was shocked and hurt and surprised and sad and angry and everything but the good emotions; but she was reasonable. She smiled a false smile and leaned down to hug him once more. "Don't like hugging?" she asked, tenderly pulling away and seting work to his knees.

"No, you were -" he winced. "- going to kiss me."

She raised her eyebrows in false surprise. "Was I now? I was under the implications I was checking your face to see if the spell had completed working yet before I hugged you."

"No, you were going to kiss me," he insisted, wincing once more as she got the skin, bones and blood back in the right places.

She smirked, but it was fake. "Full of ourselves, now are we? Can't even help fantasizing about the bookworm -"

"You're hardly just any bookworm," he snorted. "You're the queen of the Wizarding World, Hermione fucking Granger, aren't you."

"I'm also a Mudblood."

He looked as hurt as she felt. "No, you're not, don't say that -"

"Like you did, what, maybe forty-three times?"

"I don't think ike that anymore!"

Hermione didn't know why she was going off like this, but as she reached his ankles, she said, "Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater."

"Hermione!"

"What?" she demanded furiously, trying to keep herself in check and failing. "Do you really think I'm just going to forgive and forget seven years of hatred? Seven years of prejudice, of judgement, of letting me know again and again where my place is -"

"Your place is above mine," he tried weakly.

"Then why did you aways tell me it wasn't?" she shouted, slumping back against the corridor wall. "You made sure to keep drilling it into me that _you_ were better than _me_, _I_ was worse than _you_, and now all of a sudden -"

"I was exposed only to thoughts like that for those years, what did you think I was going to -"

"Well I was exposed to Muggles and I'm nothing but the most famous female in Wizarding History!" she shot back hotly. "The best friend of Harry Potter, brain of the trio, saved his arse maybe a hundred times, S.P.E.W. founder and president, best in the year, Head Girl, and I'm proud! Of! My! Self!"

"Then why are you shouting at me when I'm proud of you, too?" he bellowed, finally getting into the fight and sitting up.

"You're not proud of me! Nobody is! I'm a bad person who cheated on her boyfriend and broke Harry's wand and is shouting at her friend for no reason, oh, good God, I'm a bad... p-person..."

And she was reduced to tears on the floor, her shoulders shaking and her body trembling once more.

And without a word, Draco held her. Held her like a friend, like a brother, like she needed to be held. He let her rest her head on his shoulder, he whispered consolances to her and he let her cryout all the guilt she'd been bundling up and soak his shirt. He petted her hair and massaged her neck, he told her she was great, he was everything she needed in that one moment.

And in that one moment, all he needed was her.


	36. Chapter 37

Draco was unsure of what was going on around him. He was staring at the envelope he held in his hands, the stark-white one with the familiar address and handwriting on it, that which belonged to his home and mother. He hadn't had any mail for around four months, and he'd been fretting almost every second of every day wether or not he'd have to come home to an empty house at the end of the year. It was thick, too, a good sign, maybe because she had four months worth of questions to answer. He ripped open the top and several papers spilled out and onto the floor, covered in scribbles of the same writing that had been on the currently torn-open object in his hand. Bending down, he scrambled to pick up the papers, hoping he could get them inorder - usually, he found his mother's habit of numbering corners annoying, but he found it useful now.

"Blimey," said Ron, "Who wrote you the novel?"

"My mother," he said truthfully, sitting down easily on the loveseat in front of the fireplace and beginning to read.

_Draco,_

_I'm so sorry! I went away on a four-month vacation and completely forgot to tell you where to send my owls! And then I came back and saw the mailbox full to the bursting point and literally hit myself in the forehead. I'm so flighty, don't you agree?_

Draco smiled. His mother being flighty was a good thing - it meant she was no longer dwelling on unimportant things, or rather, unpleasant things. And that she'd gone on such a long vacation had Draco even happier - what a great way for her to spend time off! Thinking away from everything else, and all of that - however, he'd had no idea she was off house arrest. He guessed she'd taken advantage of it as soon as she could. He wondereed where she'd gone.

But he didn't have to wodner long. The next six pages were filled with where's she'd gone - all over the country, apparently - who she'd visited, what she'd seen, what she'd eaten, whom she'd met, what she did, who she did it with, and etcetra. Draco went right to laughing at the part where she said she had been able to buy all the original Shakespeare works - whoever/whatever that/those was/were - and had immediately placed them in Gringotts, to keep them absolutely safe. He found this funny because weren't you supposed to read them, not lock them away in a vault?

Harry had wondered idly what was so funny and was looking over Draco's shoulder at the letter. "I've never read Shakespeare," he said, and Draco was confused - was Shakespeare a person, or thing? "Always wanted to, never got the chance."

"Who's Shakespeare?"

"You're kidding!" Harry exclaimed, eyes going wide, but twinkling their bright green.

"What's he kidding about?" wondered Hermione.

"He doesn't know who Shakespeare is!" Harry announced, to the general stonishment of the Muggle-borns and sometimes even half-bloods in the room.

"Well, who is he, mate?" Seamus asked Dean, understanding that Shakespeare appeared to be important, but not quite the magnitude of it.

"He's only the most famous person ever in Muggle history!" Hermione shrilled playfully. "A playwright from the Renaissance era, extremely famous! I can't believe you've never heard of him! He wrote the _Tempest_, _Macbeth_, _Hamlet_, _Julius Ceasar_, _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ -"

"- and the most famous, _Romeo and Juliet_," finished Harry.

"I know that one," said Draco, to still more shock. "Isn't that the three-day lust between a thirteen-year-old and a seventeen-year-old that causes six deaths?"

"There's so much more to it than that!" Hermione trilled, defensive, but grinning.

"Although you did sum it up quite well," said Harry, bemusement on his lips as he smirked. "How did you kn-"

"My mother dragged me to see _West Side Story_," Draco said, "a sort of _Romeo-and-Juliet_ thing, and explained the original to me afterwards using those words."

"You saw West Side Story?" Hermione squealed, rushing over to him and flopping back on the loveseat so her legs were on the back part and her back on the seat, her ankles crossing and uncrossing themselves in midair as her neck craned itself up to look at him. "Who's your favorite character?"

"We'd still like to know who this Shakespeare bloke really is," said Ron, a little fed up.

"I'll explain," said Harry, wandering over to his best friend and girlfriend and starting to explainas he ushered Hermione back down.

Draco thought about her question carefully. "Probably Riff," he said.

"You're kidding!" Hermione struggled to sit up, her breathing a little strained as she folded her body. "He's so prejudiced!"

"It's not his fault," said Draco. "Did you misss 'Gee, Officer Krupke'?"

She now had her back to the arm, and her legs across his thighs, and people were returning to normal activities. "I didn't," she said, defiantly, "But seriously, those are just excuses not to end up in jail."

"They are not!"

" '_My Daddy beats my Mommy / my Mommy clobbers me_' ?" Hermione sang mockingly. "They look fine to me."

"Lovely play," remarked Parvati, with some discernment, but she, too, grew bored and drifted off.

"That's obviously a false one," he said back. "What about, '_My Grandma is a Commie / My Grandpa pushes tea_' ?"

"False as well," she retorted. "And why don't you like Tony, or Maria?"

Draco grinned and set his mother's letter aside on the coffee table. "You're supposed to like those two," he replied. "And they're not very dynamic characters."

"What do you mean, they're not?" she said, on the defensive.

"The only time I felt they were okay was when they were singing. Anita and Riff, on the other hand, are real characters."

"Hold on - Anita? Why do you like Anita?"

"She's independant -"

"Please, she hangs off 'Nardo like drapes."

"She does not! Did you not see their fight before 'America'?"

"I did see it," she consented, "But she's not very nice in the end."

"Only because the Jets were beating her -"

"Aha! Riff's gang!" her eyes flashed.

"He's dead at that point, remember? And then 'Cool' happens."

She growled, not wanting to accept he was right. "Well, Tony and Maria had the dance scene -"

"They never danced nearly so well as Anita or Riff did. Seriously, those two were on fire," he said, watching as she stuck her chin out dauntingly.

"They sing better -"

"Sing better?" he laughed. " '_Pueeeeeeeeeerto RRRRico / my heart's devotion_,' " he sang, trying to sound like Anita and failing.

She laughed too. " '_Let it sink back in the ocean_,' " she continued, smiling broadly. " '_Always the hurricanes bloooooowing_,' "

" '_Always the pop-u-la-tion grrrrrrrrrrrrowing_!' " he finished off, and he sounded so bad they both collapsed in a heap on each other, laughing and almost crying with mirth, earning them a few odd stares from people around them.

"I didn't know you sang," she said, between fits of guffaws that sounded too real to come from someone as pretty as her.

"I don't," he said immediately.

"You just did!" Hermione argued.

"As Anita," he argued back.

"Are you saying Tony and Maria are better singers?" she challenged. Her eyes sparkled with delight at this banter of theirs, and even he felt his chest grow lighter without the concerns of everyhting beating him down.

"No!"

"Then you're a good singer!"

"I'm not! You just laughed!"

"So did you," she pointed out.

"And that helps your case how?"

"Sing," she urged him, repositioning herself so her warm legs removed themselves from around his waist and her knees were by his side, her arm tugging at his. "Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?" she stuck out her bottom lip gently, and looked up through thick and long eyelashes at him with half heart-broken eyes, a prize-winning puppy dog face. Every time Pansy had given him that face, he'd succumbed.

He sighed. "Fine." it looked like Hermione was to be no different. She clapped her hands and squealed.

"Sing 'Tonight'!" she squeaked, clutching his arm tightly. Without saying a word, he pried his fingers loose one by one and removed them from the sleeve over the tattoo just visible through the fabric.

"I'm not singing any love songs," he told her, with an air of finality.

"You're singing?" asked Lavender, coming to stand by him. "Sing!"

And soon, there were a crowd of prefects surrounding him, and he had to cover his ears before he could think through the chants of "Sing! Sing! Sing!"

"Fine!" he roared, and they all cheered.

"Sing 'One Hand, One Heart'," Hermione demanded him.

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not singing any love songs," he repreated.

"Come on," she whispered suacily, grinning coyly, giving him the look once more. He sighed again, and closed his eyes against those of the watching audience. He really didn't like to sing.

" _'Make of our hands, one hand._

_Make of our hearts, one heart._

_Make of our vows, one last vow._

_Only death can part us now_.' "

He faltered and peeked up to see people pulling straight poker faces. He wasn't surprised. He really wasn't a good singer.

But he then knew they were being emotionless at the fact that Hermione had grasped his hands tightly, and her warmth was tingling through him, making his head go dizzy and his knees go weak, though he was already sitting. Her eyes met with his and held the gaze, making it impossible to think of anything but how she sung; her voice wavering slightly, unsure, and unused to this high of a pitch, but she reached the notes without screaming them and she sounded brave, like a true Gryffindor.

" '_Make of our lives, one life._

_Day after day, one life_.' "

All around them faded and everything seemed much more distant now. They were standing, no, sitting, on and in nothing, just them, and they sang together. When their voices were separate, they were painfully average; together, they were beautiful.

" '_Now it begins, now we start._

_One hand, one heart._

_Even death won't part us now_.' "

Draco had never been able to read eyes before, really. He knew his friends' minor idiosyncrisies and facial expressions and he knew how to read body language, but Hermione's eyes told all. Pansy had confused him at times, her eyes saying one thing, her body sayng another, her mouth saying yet another, but he'd never been truly able to see into her. Hermione was... like a book. Like the books she read, she was open to him, it was just that he'd never thought of reading hr before. He could see past her eyes and into the nooks and crannies of her brain, and for a moment, he felt an emotion brush his skin on the left half of his chest.

And then he let go of her hands, and looked away. He looked down at his pants and crossed his legs. He then uncrossed them nervously. The whole room watched as they both fiddled with their thumbs or ankeles of other irrelevant body parts for a while, and then Ginny spoke up.

"Damn, you guys can sing."

Hermione's eyes, while looking anywhere but Draco, had found the clock. "I'm late!" she yelped, jumping to her feet, her bushy hair a wild mane around her flushed face. Her brown eyes were alight and he felt himself withstand a jolt of pressure where the fleeting emotion had been before, and then realized looking at her, natural her, had made his heart stutter.

"Late for what?" he called after her, but she had already disappeared out the doorway, the doors of which clanged shut behind her.

"She's going to Hagrid's," said Harry, by way of explanation, and then he switched topics. "I didnt know you could sing."

Draco shrugged. "Neither did I."

"Got a nice pair of lungs shouting insults at us from across the Quidditch pitch, did you?" asked Ron cheekily.

Draco couldn't help but smile, and felt all the tension in the room being cut with a knife. People dispersed in whispers, gossipping and talking about what had happened. The room was still filled with an empty sort of buzzing, and Draco hated the spotlight, and grabbed his mother's letter by way of distraction, picking up where he'd left off.

_Well, I do believe it's time I told you why I went on that vacation. I was, in all honesty, looking for a wife for you throughout the strongest, most noble and most highly respected Wizarding families that have a daughter around your age, so you'd stop being so lonely and have friends outside your little closely-knit group. Well, every girl either had a partner, didn't want to marry you or weren't allowed to by their parents. After you send your next letter, I'm going off to talk to the Grevantiles, Lynelles and Joaffmons about their daughters Genevieve, Allene and Anastasia-Serendipity (what a mouthful, and her middle name is Arabella-Felicity. Yeesh!)_.

_I love you, write back._

_- Mother_

Draco had discarded the letter, a bit put out, when Ginny's hand placed itself on his shoulder and her brown eyes looked down at him seriously. "We need to talk."


	37. Chapter 38

"Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!"

Hermione, still standing half-way through the door, watched the scene unfold before her.

All the Weasleys, besides Percy, Charlie and Bill, were standing around a huge pile of presents, and grinning, their red hair making them look like a flock of Irish people. Her own parents were standing next to Molly and Arthur, smiling too, looking completely at ease. Harry was, of course, standing next to Ginny, his arm loped around her waist loosely. Neville and Luna were standing there, as well, a cheering look on his face and the normal one on hers. What surprised her most was not the huge pile of presents, but that Draco skulked quietly in a corner, seemingly out of place and uncomfortable, his grey eyes flashing about the scene as her brown ones were.

And then her curiosity was spiked as the realization of the scene hit her. "What's this?" she asked, closing the door behind her.

"We never got to celebrate Christmas, due to your injuries," said Harry, "Nor New Year's. So we're having a late and mixed celebration of both and each."

Hermione eyed the presents. "Which are mine?" she demanded, looking at the ones that looked suspiciously like poorly-wrapped books.

Laughter was shared, and then gifts were passed around at an alarming rate. Her parents got her a new book, and, to Mr. Weasley's entrancement, a CD player. She left him to happily fiddle with it and everyone sat in a circle, opening presents in a turn. Hermione found herself recieving a boxed set of all the Bathilda Bagshot works from Harry - they shared a knowing look - and a box of Rasberry -Chocolate Cauldrons from Ron. Ginny got her a toy for Crookshanks - a mini/toy time-turner, which, when spun, made Crookshanks look dazed for a couple of seconds, and then made him bat at it over and over repeatedly, trying to figure it out, thoroughly confused. This made Hermione laugh supremely hard. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, to her delight, had gotten her a framed picture of her with the Weasleys and Harry after the war. The only sad thing, and the thing Hermione noticed first and foremost, was that George had an empty spot next to him, and looked like he was trying not to cry. Her eyes looked up and found the red-head, who looked remarkably calm, but he knew what she'd seen, and he nodded sadly, smiling even more sadly.

And then, when all presents had been opened and Hermione had apologized again and again for getting nobody anything, Draco came over to her and cleared his throat.

Just his proximity made her heart skip a beat, and when it re-started, it was fast. He had in his hands a small, velvet box of the blackest, softest fabric, and handed it to her worlessly; everyone watched as she opened it, and waited anxiously when she gasped at the sight.

"Oh, my," she breathed, looking with admiration at the object gleaming from within the box.

It looked to be the tiniest star she'd ever seen, one of the twinkling dots from the night sky, shining at her. It had obviously been shrunk to great proportion, or it was fake either way, it looked very real, and emmitted a warm light. It had rays of light that shone in all directions, bending the light around her and making it shimmer, almost as if placing it under a Disillusionist charm. Her eyes reflected it, making it seem as if her eyes were glittering, too. It was beyond beautiful, and she was beyond words.

"Do you like it?" Draco asked quietly, while those around her who could see inside it placed hands over their mouths in shock and stunned silence.

Hermione opened her dry mouth, and found no words. She looked up. Her eyes met his, and she savoured the moment where their eyes became one set inside her head, and his steel protected her chocolate; the blend, to some, would seem unlikely, and to others, almost necessary. She stood up, very slowly, and then hugged him firecely. He didn't wrap his arms around her at first, but when she burried her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder, his arms placed themselves lightly on her waist, hesitant.

"What is it?" asked her mother, confused. Releasing Draco, all she could mutter was a heart-felt 'Thank you' before she had to turn and let everyone look at the gift. They oohed and aahed respectively and most of the women said they were very jealous, but Draco had moved over the Molly and Arthur, who were looking at him apprehensively. The room fell silent once more, and Hermione touched the star once, gently, and felt it tingle her fingertip - she bit back a giggle, and closed the box, looking to Draco'ss palms, which held a letter.

"Merry Christmas, Happy New Year," he muttered, thrusting the letter into their hands and then walking off to his corner again. Carefully and suspiciously, they opened it, and began to read.

Everyone waited, and Molly's eyes filled with tears; Arthur seemed almost shel-shocked. "You wrote this?" he asked Draco, unsure. Draco nodded once, sharply.

"Oh!" cried Mrs. Weasley, looking to him. "Of course you're forgiven, how sweet of you, Mr. Malfoy -"

"Draco," he corrected.

"What?" exclaimed George, grabing the letter from his mothers' hands.

They waited while _he_ read it, their curiosity nearly drowning them at this point. Then he, too, looked up, and he sighed.

"Wish Fred could've read this," he muttered, placing it at his feet.

"What is it?" asked Neville, craning his neck to see.

"An apology letter," said Fred, eyeing Draco. "For seven years' worth of insults and prejudice."

Hermione felt pride bubble from her heart to her whole chest, and she felt the urge to hug the now red-faced Malfoy again; but then, something rained down from the cieling, and landed in Mrs. Weasley's lap, a torn piece of parchment with writing on it.

Her eyes flew over it, and then she screamed, and starting sobbing.

"Mum?" Ron jumped to his feet and ran to his mother. "What is it?"

Harry reached over to Molly's lap and pulled the note up to his face, straightening his glasses to read. " '_Molly,_

_Looking after Fred like you've looked over Harry all these years._

_Love,_

_Lily_' "

Harry's glasses had gone askew, but he didn;t notice. Tears had welled in his emerald eyes, but he took no care; his face had drained completely of color, and was left looking ashen. He mouthed the words once more to himself, making sure he saw them right, and then tracing the individual words. The ink seemed to stay permanently on the page, no matter how he rubbed it.

"What are you doing? she asked him quietly, when the tears spilled voer and he'd still failed to rub off the ink in front of a silent crowd.

"I w-want t-to be able to t-touch her," he said, tears thickening his throat, "b-but all I have is the ink."

"Harry!" Ginny had squeaked, flying into his lap and embracing him almost violently.

And then Harry began crying as Molly had, dropping the note. The whole room was empty of sound, and Hermione felt her heart break each time Harry uttered another sob, hiding behind Ginny's red curtain of hair as she held him. Arthur was now wrapping Molly in his arms protectively, and Harry looked up at the cieling depserately, where the note had come from, his face blotchy and red, and cried harder than ever - she raised her hand to place it on his shoulder, but felt the moment too private to intrude on. However, she did place it on his shoulder, and to her great surprise, he grabbed her and brought her in to hold him, too. She sent a glance at Ron, who wasted no time in coming over to hold him, too, and for a moment they all cried together over the broken heart of a best friend and his parents, and their unfair and untimely death. Their arms entertwined, they all bowed their heads, hoping to talk to each other without using words, and it was easy to see that through Harry's sobs, and Mrs. Weasley's weeping, the rest of the eys in the room were wet, too.

Hermione realized nobody had bothered holding George, who looked ready to pass out. Loosely disentangling herself from the group, she made it over the twin-now-not, and sat beside him, and enclosed his hand with hers smoothly, holding the small portion of him she felt she was entitled to.

Arthur and Molly were both bawling things like, "Freddie, my Freddie..." and Harry's voice could barely be understood when he said, "M-mom, m-mom..."

The moment was one of the most bitter remembrance, and Hermione knew George was being very, very brave when he did not openly cry - he let a few hot tears spill down his cheeks, but stared striahgt ahead at the wall, and occassionally squeezed her hand when the waves of pain got too difficult to stand against alone. And that's what it was; wave after wave of endless pain - the pain of loss, the loss of love. The deepest kinds of love, family love. George had lost a half of himself that daay, and Mrs. Weasley had lost a considerable chunk of her life, as had Arthur - and Harry had nothing left but the people around him, crying silently. The holes left by Death's stealing were filled with a burning acid that clawed at their minds and hearts and threatened to unwind them. But they had a pure light shining from the cracks Death had tried to fill with suffering, and that light cut through the misery and brought with it the feeling that they were not defeated; and the remembrance that they should celebrate they lived at all, instead of mourn the fact they stopped. She was sitting there, comforting her family, whether by blood or not. Blood didnt matter - Death could spill it, but this innocent light could build it invisibly, as a barrier against those who threatened to bring darkness.

A champagne bottle and several glasses were in the middle of the circle all of a sudden, and a glance behind her told her Draco had summoned them, as he was the only one with his wand stared at the drink quizically.

"A toast," Draco announced, filling the spot Hermione had left open, sensing she wasn't leaving George alone anytime soon. Ginny and Ron were each holding one of Harry's hands, on either side of him, and Arthur and her mother had Molly's hands. Neville had Luna and Hermione had George - she watched as her father held her mother's free hand. Draco made the bottle distribute the wine, and held up his glass, and said louldly:

"To Fred Weasley, Lily Potter, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Alastor Moody, Cedric Diggory, Dobby, and many others who gave their lives for the greater good and downfall of evil. Let their spirits toast to us, those who lived through it."

Hermione held up her glass, to follow his example. "To those brave enough to die for something larger than themselves."

Neville lifted his glass. "To those who gave their lives for ours."

And they went around in a random order, giving a small sentence that bandaged her heart with every word, and then Luna raised her glass.

"To the bodies of those deceased. Their spirits still let us know they're watching... in a way." She smiled, and Hermione knew that was one of the most serious things she'd heard from Luna. She also knew she was talking about thestrals. Looking at Ron, she wondered if he still disliked them, after what Luna'd said. But he pronounced, "To them all, we toast!" and clanked his glass around those nearest him.

The room was filled with clinks and tinks and people sipping, and the atmosphere lightened considerably.

"So... what did Hagrid want?" asked Neville.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, nearly sloshing the wine that'd slid down her throat with warmth. "To show me the third task!"

"What is it?" asked Luna, back to normal.

"I have to fend of a dementor in a cage for ten minutes."

Ron smiled. "Easy. Dementor in a cage should be no problem."

Hermione slapped her forward her with her free hand, having set her glass down. "No, silly. I'm going to be in the cage _with_ the Dementor."

"Ah," he said, in understanding. "A bit more difficult."

Neville snorted. "For Hermione? You're kidding."

There were a few scattered laughs, and then, out of nowhere, the whole group was laughing as if the world had told a hysterical joke, and they rolled around, and spilled wine, and drank and talked and giggled and shortled and chuckled and guffawed. People wiped their eyes and everything returned to normal; they were celebating two holdiays late, and that was that. She noticed Harry hand the note to Molly, who accepted it and put it in her pocket.

Hermione felt happy, but something was distubing her. Making her way over to Draco, she asked him, "Where did you get that star?"

He smiled. "You'll see... in time."

She looked at him as if he was insane, and he smirked back. "Did you see it was a necklace?" he asked.

Her eyebrows shot up. "No," she said.

His smirk turned into a really angelic, soft smile that tugged at the corners of his plump lips, and made her heart skip once more.

"Let me show you," he said, reaching for the box, opening it, and picking up the star by a long, expensive-looking and thin chain that she had completely missed in the beauty of the garment on it. She turned around.

His fingers brushed the base of her neck and she got goosebumps. They were cold, she told herself, but electricity had shot through her all the same. As the chain clasped and rested against her chest, she felt the warmth of the star shining just above her rather low neck-line. It took a moment, but she felt it thrum with her heartbeat, felt it throb and pulse ever so gently, as if it was a part of her. Like the locket had, but not in a sinister way - in a welcoming way. She turned to look at Draco, about to ask what had caused it.

"Harry," said Ginny, "Out the window, look."

All eyes turned to the window, the forbidden forest tree line shimmering as something just managed to fly into it. It was a coppery-looking silver object, shining slightly blue and giving an illusion of flames, but she was thoroughly confused by it.

"What is it?" asked Ginny, worry tinting her voice.

"I don't know," answered Harry, "But I have a feeling it's important."

There was no more said that evening; they all watched the sun go down in peace.


	38. Chapter 39

Draco smiled every time he saw Hermione the next few days, always wearing the star. He'd told her it wouldn't get wet, and wouldn't go out. Hermione loved the necklac to metaphorical pieces. However, it confused her. She knew of no magic, besides being a Horcrux, that could make it beat with her heart - but then, she knew of no magic that could create her necklace, unless there was a very good magical animator out there. The thing disappearing into the forest was pushed to the back of her mind, as was the necklace's secret. She told Brant and Simis of the challenge, and then David, who nagged her about practicing as he had about th first task. She was ahead on her homework and had finished it for the entire year, because, at her special request, she'd recieved all assignments and finished them. She was very relaxed these days, not worrying about the task at all. She spent long hours alone with Harry and Ron, long time periods chatting with Tori, Liccy and Ginny - her nickname never did catch on - and even more time in the library, reading through book after book while Brant watched her and occassionaly wrote a verse or two of poetry. The next Hogsmeade trip was announced, and Hermione realized, with some shock, that it was scheduled for February the fourteenth - Valentine's Day. And she had no Valentine. Not that the boys didn't try; their hopes and attempts livened her spirits a ton. She had only to step out of the common room and be bombarded by invitations to buy a butterbeer or visit the Shrieking Shack, which they were now giving tours of. Hermione was reluctant to go to Hogsmeade at all; they were bound to be determined reporters there, just waiting for a story. This is what stopped her from accepting any invitations - she'd have a front-page story about a false romance printed about her in a flash. But she did not, under any circumstances, want to be alone, and this thought is what she dwelled on walking toward the common room the day before the trip.

"Lavender, I've told you, we've tried and we've failed."

Hermione stopped walking, recognizing Ron's voice.

"Won-Won -"

"My name is _Ronald_, not Won-Won. Talk like you kow how to," he snapped at the pleading and whiny girl.

"Why?" she sounded false-sad, like she was pretending to be upset at him but was secretly glad he was ending things. and this is what surprised Hermione - Ron was ending things. Ron hated ending things with girls. He'd always been cowardly about that.

"I've told you, I've feelings for someone else."

"Well, good," shot Lavender, acting like she was angry, though Hermione could hear the behind it to the giddy masked tone. " 'Cuz I've been shagging Ernie for three weeks."

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth. Lavender had cheated on Ron? She felt blood boil under the skin of her hands as she clenched them tightly, thinking of punching her square in the nose.

"What?" Ron sounded afronted, and with good reason. And then his Gryffindor courage peaked. "Why? Was I not good enough? Was Ernie a better shagger than me? I'll pummel the bastard!"

A better shagger than him? Did that mean Ron and Lavender had shagged? Hermione knew he was a good kisser, but how was he at shagging? _Was_ Ernie better? And though Hermione's head was whirling, she was miffed and definitely disappointed, a black void almost swallowing her, because, somewhere deep in her chest, she'd always dreamed of being the first person to sleep with Ron; to create that special bond between two people as they took each other's virginity. Maybe they wouldn't have done it until they were married, but she had still wanted to be that special to him. It was obvious now she wasn't, and probably never had been. She felt tears well in her eyes. Her chest felt like it was being ripped over and over again into the small pieces imaginable, so he could pick them up individually and burn them. She clutched at the skin over her heart and fell to her knees quietly, choking back a hot sob. Ron had moved on, and she hadn't; and she knew that if he'd wanted to get back together with _her_, he'd have told her he was ready again, and not just broken things off with Lavender and say he liked someone else; even if he had gone with the second resort, he'd have said he liked _her_, not 'someone else'. Hermione clamped a hand over her eyes as the watered her face.

"Good luck," Lavender snickered. "He's stronger than you are, and better in bed. _And_ he lets me be on top."

Hermione heard footsteps, and as an act of protecting her dignity, she found the nearest closet and threw herself inside, closing it as quietly as she could just in time for the footsteps to round the corner, and then pass by. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself down.

Her reaction was pointless and unjustified, and she knew it. He wasn't her boyfriend, he'd moved on and she'd known it, but she couldn't help wondering if she was the only virgin among the Golden Trio now. Come to think of it, she was sure she'd seen Harry and Ginny sneaking off together, cloaking themselves under James' little toy, with private smirks on their faces; yes, she was sure that she was the only one still a virgin. But the thought of losing her virginity frightened her. She didn't know who to lose it to; it was obvious Ron wouldn't sleep with her, and she'd prefer another virgin herself. And there was nobody she liked, in any sense even close to sexually or romantically.

Another set of footsteps loomed up, and stopped right in front of the door as Ron called out, "Hannah!"

Hannah? Hannah Abbott?

"Yes?" asked the voice Hermione had heard several times in D.A. practices. And then another pair of feet had joined the shadows made by Hannah's in front of the door, and Hannah gave a small cry of surprise and delight as there was a loud thud agains the door. "Ron," said the girl, "Boys don't generally ask a girl out by throwing them against a closet door and snogging them."

She heard Ron's chuckle, and she bit down hard on her lip. "Well, would you like more kisses like that or not?"

This was odd. Ron wasn't like this, not so confident, not even to her -

Oh, Merlin.

He must really, really like her. He must be so sure of his love, or lust, or even feelings, toward her that he figured she returned them, and he'd just gone for it. And it appeared that Hannah had feelings for Ron, too, because she heard a very un-Hermione-like giggle and a, "Sure," before romantic sounds began once more.

It was then that Hermione realized something.

If she really loved Ron, as she thought she did, truly did, she'd let him be happy with whoever he wanted/needed. As long as he was happy, she should be happy; but she wasn't. Her feelings were protective, almost like... a sister.

A sister.

She refrained from slapping herself, but only barely. She had loved Ron like _that_, but only briefly; it was sisterly. Desperate times call for drastic actions and she had kissed him when he'd shown the slightest inkling of care for the House Elves. She wondered idly if she'd do it to anyone else, and felt the disappointment weight lift from her shoulders. She did love him, of that there was no question; and if Hannah loved him too, but romantically, she'd be proud of Ron and his snagging of a wholesome and intelliget girl, who was also fairly pretty.

In her thoughts, she'd lost the track of conversation for a while, and realized that the footsteps were fading away while there were happy couple sounds disappearing with them. She smiled and wiped her face, laughing quietly to herself.

And then the door opened, revealing Draco.

"Why are you in here?" he asked her, noticing how she gave a start and choosing to disregard it.

"I walked in on an awkward conversation," she said, scrambling to her feet.

He smirked. "You're in one."

"It's not awkward," she said. "How did you know I was in here?"

His smirked transformed into a grin. "Your star. It gave off light, and it was kind of weird to see a closet glowing."

She glanced down at her chest, on which the chain supported the mass of energy that bounced off of her breasts as it swung from the movement of her stading. She touched it gently, steadying it, and realized he'd been staring where she had, too. She flushed red all the way down to where he was looking; seeing the coloration, he too turned red and looked away awkwardly.

"Now it's awkward," she muttered.

There was a moment of silence, and then they all heard a voice.

"Miss Granger!"

A small House Elf was running up the hallway, looking terrified of whatever was behind her, her voice squeaking almsot too high to hear. She stepped out of the closet and around Draco quickly, brushing her chest area into his; they both turned even more crimson with embarrassment. The elf, having almost reached them, tripped over her own lengthy feet and splayed across the floor. Hermione, seeing this, reacted at once and went to help; but Draco was already there, helping the animal up carefully.

"Are you alright?" he asked the elf seriously, and Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Yessir," said the elf, glancing behind her fearfully.

"What's making you run?" he asked the elf, his voice grave, looking directly into the huge glassy orbs that commanded the outsized head. Hermione was stunned that he was showing this level or respect to a House Elf.

She looked scared of answering. "I don't know who he is," she cried. "He... he said..."

And the elf started hyperventilating. Pitying the poor thing, Hermione once again started forward to comfort it, but Draco had gathered it into his arms, and was whispering things into its ear. Hermione froze, her joints locked in place. Draco was... cuddling... a House Elf, of all things! Her eyes bugged out of her head.

"Now then," said Draco to the elf, his vocie grave, "What is your name?"

"Bubbles," squeaked the elf in answer.

"Bubbles," said Draco, nodding his aknowledgement of the name. "What did this man look like?"

Bubbles shook her head. "Bubbles does not know," she answered. "He grabbed Bubbles from behind and made her carry the note to Miss Granger."

Draco pondered this for a moment. "May I see the note?" he asked Bubbles politely.

Bubbles hesitated. "He said for Bubbles to give it only to Miss Granger."

Draco held out his hand. "Please give me the note, Bubbles," he said sternly. Hermione's heart was beating out of control. He was being so caring towards the elf...

Bubbles placed the note in his hand. He took one look of the writing, made a disgusted face, took out his wand and lit it on fire. It burned to ash in a second. Hermione's star thrummed calmly, no matter how fast her heart went now - she'd felt it skip when Draco had read the note, but now it was normal. However, she was angry - the note had been meant for her, after all, and she had no idea what it said.

"Did you read the note, Bubbles?" Draco asked her, his voice barely above a whisper.

The elf shook her head. "He told Bubbles not to."

Draco thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Thank you, Bubbles. Do you need anything else?"

Her anger died down at the kindness in his voice.

She shook her head. "May I go back to the kitchen, Mister Malfoy?"

Draco nor Hermione were surprised that the elf knew who he was. "If you wish," he said, giving the elf a pat on the head and a smile before it scurried off.

"You... Draco..."

Hermione was speechless, and Draco seemed slightly confused by her exression and tone. "What?"

"You... were nice... to an elf..."

"Well, yeah," now he was bemused. "It's an elf, but that doesn't make it bad. Different, yes. Not bad. They're still people, in a way -"

"But you used to treat them like vermin," she said, completely mystified.

He smiled sadly. "I used to treat you like vermin," he pointed out.

And as their eyes met, her heart skipped a beat, but the star's beating picked up immensely.

And then she began to understand.

"Draco," she said slowly, "Why does this heart beat so often with mine, but just now..." she trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence and knowing he understood the point.

She waited while his eyes flashed from scene to scene, and finally settled on something she couldn't make out. "Come with me to Hogsmeade," he said.

"Why?" she was surprised.

"You need a date," he said, "And the papers can hardly say we're dating. We've hated each other for seven years."

Hermione smirked a smirk that seemed to make him proud. "Oh, yes they can," she disagreed. "Shakespare would've loved us as a couple."

Draco seemed a bit confused. "So, you're thinking we're both going to die?"

She laughed outright, clutching her stomach and bending over in mirth. "No," she gasped finally, "I meant, since we're from opposite sides, he'd have automatically said, 'Forbidden Love!' "

"Really?" he was amused, and his eyes danced with laughter. "Well, would the papers say the same thing?"

She thought for a moment, her laughter dying down. "Probably," she admitted.

His eyes glinted with wicked fun. "Let's give them something to talk about."

Her stomach and the star gave a lurch. "Are you... asking me... on a date?"

He raised his hands in the air as a sign of surrender. "Just as friends," he said - and for some reason, her stomach drooped, and her face fell. "But we'll screw the papers."

"Oh," she said. "Okay."

He raised an eyebrow at her disappointed tone. "We could go as a borderline-couple," he said quietly.

"And still borderline-friends?" she demanded, for some reason afraid of the thought of going out with none other than the boy who'd made her school days miserable.

He nodded.

"Alright then." She squared her shoulders. "It's a date."

Her stomach was tying itself in knots and her star was pounding.

He beamed at her like the sun, happy for reasons she couldn't understand. "It's a date... Beaver," he added.

She beamed back at the nickname he'd used not tauntingly nor offensively, but in a friendly, open kind of way. "Ferret."


	39. Chapter 40

Draco wasn't sure what he was expecting when he met Hermione in the common room the next day, but it wasn't what he received. She looked beautiful, in a simple sort of way. Her normally bushy hair had been tamed to simple waves for the day, waves of chocolate silk that cascaded down her shoulders softly. Her eyelashes were already long, but they appeared longer and fuller than before, darker, also - her cheeks had a faint blush to them (though he didn't know if that was makeup or not). Her lips sparkled, and he could tell that she had applied lip gloss, something strange for her. She wore a tight-fitting cotton sweater, the cream color pleasant next to her hair, and it clung to her curves. He had trouble not staring. Her jeans were tight, but not overly-tight, in the way some girls wore them, so he could easily make out her figure, but they were not, in the least, something a 'harlot' might wear. She wore nice-looking, rather low boots, perfect for the chilled and snowy outdoors. But her eyes were what caught him. They sparkled with anticipation, and hesitance, and excitement. And they averted themselves to the floor as many eyes were drawn to her.

"You're going out?" Ginny piped up from the window, seating next to Harry, who'd been whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

Hermione nodded.

"With who?" asked Harry.

"Draco," said Hermione.

"Draco?" shouted Harry, standing straight up and almost knocking Ginny over. His gaze went from Draco - who felt very self-conscious in his normal apparel, though it was a suit - to Hermione, who appeared disapproving of his tone. "When did you two start dating?"

The room waited for an answer. "We haven't," he said, rather harshly.

"Ah," said Ginny, shooting Draco an understanding look. "Just to... mess up the papers?"

He nodded. "Exactly." Their eyes met, and he noticed their shade was slightly darker than Hermione's, and stayed that way, never shifted from chocolate to caramel to whiskey like Hermione's did. She smiled knowingly. He looked away. From her neck hung the star - not a day yet she hadn't worn it.

"Why are you going out if you're not dating?" Harry asked, somewhat in control now.

Draco couldn't help his smirk. "To mess up the papers. Listen to your girlfriend, Harry."

Ron and Lavender chose just then to exit the girls' dormitory, almost running into Hermione, who was still standing there. Hannah blushed; Ron looked rumpled, and proud of himself. Hannah looked at Hermione awkwardly.

Hermione pretended not to see the awkwardness. "Good catch, Ron," she congratulated him, patting him on the back and leaving him looking shocked as she walked over and hooked her arm through Draco's. Knowing her skin was there through three, maybe four layers made his heart skip. "Shall we go?" she asked him.

He grinned at her. "We shall."

And, to the interest of the room, they exited it.

And walked straight into a hoard of males, all who'd been turned down by Hermione and who'd wondered who she _was_ going with. Upon seeing her, they called greetings; upon seeing him, they glared. A few gazes turned to his left forearm, and he hid it immediately behind his back, as was his habit whenever passing anyone lately. The crowd of silent, glaring males made the air awkward. Draco cleared his throat after a moment of waiting for them to clear. Nobody moved.

"Would you mind letting us through?" Hermione asked them pleasantly.

The moved grudgingly aside, created an uneven path - she pulled him through, the entire time he pressed his mark to his side tightly, letting no gaze find it. Getting past the group, he glanced back, but Hermione tugged on his arm sharply; they continued walking.

"So..." Draco was at a loss of conversation. "I've... I was wondering..." he was afraid to ask.

"What?"

"Well... you yelled at Viktor for cheating on you... and you kissed me," he said carefully. She sighed and scrunched up her face painfully.

"I'm an awful hypocrite, aren't I?" she exhaled loudly as they rounded a corner. She thought for another moment. "But he cheated before I did, and he did it sexually... I did it to save our lives."

"You could have conjured that Patronus by yourself." He stated the obvious; she made the face again.

"I know," she said. "You'd have had to learn eventually."

He was about to disagree, but she had her face set stubbornly, the way she did when the subject was going to change or be totally lost; her chin stuck out, teeth clenched, and eyes staring straight ahead. Without thinking, he blurted out, "I love it when you make that face."

Her features went from stubborn to shocked, and she looked at him; it was his turn to stare ahead, his cheeks red. "Why?"

He scrambled inside his head for an answer. "It means I won," he said, "that you've got no argument left."

She seemed to accept that, and reacted as he expected she would; with a dirty look. "It does not mean you've won," she said, "It means I no longer care enough about the topic to be bothered with conversing about it."

"Alright," he agreed immediately. "Fine. You pick the topic this time."

She considered her options and he waited for her to speak again. They passed McGonagall and he nodded to her; she raised her eyebrows and suppressed a smile, allowing them to continue on to Hogsmeade. The cool air greeted him, air that matched his skin, and she said, "Okay. What's your favorite _West Side Story_ scene?"

" 'Gee Officer Krupke'," he answered, with no hesitation. "What's yours?"

"Probably their fight before 'America'."

He rolled his eyes. "And you still say she's not independent."

This started a heated but pleasant debate about everything in _West Side Story_ - Draco wasn't in the least surprised that she knew it so well, but she seemed stunned about his amount of knowledge of a Muggle event. They travelled down lanes and roads that were snow-dusted and blindingly white, leaving a trail of footprints through the fresh snow. They appeared to be one of the very first couples to leave. They walked slowly through the streets, talking about this, that, and everything under the sun - until they reached the town, and the empty streets. The few couples that had gotten there before them had all gone off on romantic activities, but the reporters lurked around every store, with camera men and quills they held poised over notepads, waiting for a story.

Before any of the reporters could notice them, Draco pulled Hermione down and aside, and hushed her when she exclaimed in surprise and resistance. "What was that for?" she hissed, as he looked over the mound of snow at the reporters, who appeared to have thought themselves delusional for imagining her voice. He looked back at her.

"Do you want them to see us right away, or do you want to get a drink and then let them know we're here?" he asked her in a whisper.

Her eyes glinted with wicked fun, and she smirked a smirk that impressed even him. "The second option," she said, humor tinting her voice and making his heart stutter momentarily. "Shall I perform the Disillusionist charm?"

And so they walked, invisible, through almost nonexistent shadows, trying not to chuckle at the hopelessly lost reporters who stared at the footprints on the lane, confused. They snuck past them, biting their lips and shaking with invisible laughter until they had reached the abandoned portion of Hogsmeade; old, and worn-down buildings littered here, not a soul in sight.

"What are we doing here?" she asked him, her voice sounding oddly empty in the silence that surrounded them in the crisp air.

"We," he said, "Are going to have a peaceful date."

He felt the charm lift, and he spotted her hand; grabbing it, he pulled her along, breaking into a run, laughing as she exclaimed when she stumbled. Her hand was warm and comfortable, her skin soft; he headed for a shut-down restaurant. Looking around to see if anyone had noticed them, he pulled Hermione to a stop, and, with his wand, severed the wood planks that barred the entrance, slipping through it into the run-down eating area, tables old and dusty and chairs toppled over.

"Here? Peaceful?" He heard how dubious she sounded. He had spent two long hours planning this; he would not mess it up. He pointed his wand at the table-and-chair set in the middle, with two chairs and a small, round table. _Stocius_, he thought, and it immediately stood upright, the set corrected itself as if waiting for a couple just like them. Another flick of his wrist, and it was dust-free and gleaming as if new, the whole set. Yet another flick, and there were fluffy cushions on the seats - another, and there was a white-and-gold checkered tablecloth draped over the table. A wave, and a five-pronged candle stood in the center - a swish, and two wine glasses appeared at each spot. Hermione was gaping at his wandwork, and he felt proud of himself as he thought, _Aguamenti_, and water burst from his wand into mid-air - Hermione gasped, thinking it would slop down and ruin the entire set. He smiled, and as it was about to fall, levitated it, turned it to wine, and directed half into each glass.

"Draco -" she began, but he cut her off with one last flick; a red rose appeared in his other hand. He handed it to her regally, bowing as he did so, and she accepted it, her fingers brushing against his and sending sparks shooting into his hands, making them tingle and his heart beat twice when it should have beat only once. "Draco -" she started again, sounding awe-struck, her eyes glistening in that same awe. He placed his wand upon her lips, to keep her quiet, and then flourished it greatly - one chair farther back that had toppled over turned into a five-star lamb souffle, and its twin turned into small bowls of steaming tomato soup. Both dishes set themselves accordingly - Draco made napkins and silverware appear, and then, raising his hands, the candle wicks set themselves aflame.

"Draco," she breathed, looking at his handiwork. "This is... Merlin, that is... wow..."

He grinned from ear to ear, gesturing for her to take her seat, and then, thinking twice, pulled it out for her and waited for her to sit. She did not do so immediately; instead, she looked over the entire thing as if waiting for Cinderella's carriage to turn back into a pumpkin. When she had satisfied herself, she took a seat, and then he took his - looking across the lamb, soup and candle flames, he instructed, "Dig in!"

She seemed unsure what to help herself to first; so, to make it easier for her, he grabbed his soup bowl, picked up his soup spoon, and blew on the spoonful he'd scooped up until it looked cool enough to swallow. The taste was very good, and the warmth was perfect; not quite took hot, not quite too cold. He watched as she slowly took her own bowl, and, being less careful than he, swallowed a spoonful and exhaled loudly, grabbing her wine glass and washing down the soup's burning temperature with something smooth and cold. He laughed as she became flushed after just one sip, and she looked bashfully up at him.

"When you said we'd go for a bite to eat," she said, "I had no idea you meant this."

He smiled serenely at her. "Did you think I'd force you to go into an actual pub?" he shook his head. "I'm better than that."

She smiled back just as he had and tilted her wine glass in recognition of his truth. "That you are, she said, taking a much smaller sip. She looked around them. "Who'd have thought that we'd find the most romantic spot ever... right _here_." She waved her arms, as if to indicate that the place they were in was hideous bland and un-romantic. She was right; he chortled to himself.

There were a few more minutes of adjusting to the taste and temperatures of the food, and they struck up conversation again.

"Draco..." she said slowly. "After the Yule Ball..."

"Yes?" he cocked an eyebrow, expectant.

"Who'd you go and sleep with?"

It was a blunt question, and bluntly spoken. He admired Hermione for that. He thought for a minute, about lying, but then told her the truth. "Virginia Bradley."

She cocked an eyebrow this time. "Why?"

Was it his imagination, or did she sound jealous? Probably his imagination. He shrugged. "I was drunk, she wanted to sleep with me."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, her eyes on her meal. "Where?"

He flushed crimson. "The prefects' bathroom."

"Ew!" she exclaimed, looking up with shock. "We bathe in there!"

"You don't say," he said, amused. "I thought it was a closet."

His sarcasm wasn't missed, and they shared another laugh before they dug in again. Draco was taking a sip of his wine when she asked, "What was on the note?"

He nearly choked on it, but managed to swallow. He looked at her warily. "Why do you want to know?"

"Well..." she thought out loud. "It was my note, after all, and it must have had something extreme on it for you to burn it like you did."

"I..."_ I don't want to tell you, I don't want you to hear, I don't want to say the word..._ "It..."

"Yes?" she looked perfectly patient, and he struggled to find a way of saying it without it sounding insulting - there was no way to, it was such an insulting term.

"Um... well, it called you, a, um... do I have to say it?"

Her features softened slightly. "Is it Mublood?"

He shook his head. "No."

"What is it?"

"It's really mean," he warned her.

Both of her eyebrows raised themselves. "So was your Aunt. Now - what did it say?"

"Just thecouple words." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. " 'Cunnus sordibus'."

She stiffened; she obviously knew Latin. She spoke between her teeth: "In that language, or ours?"

"Ours."

She nodded tightly. "Hm." She stabbed her lamb with unnecessary force, and then, before putting it in her mouth, looked up again, and asked, "Was it signed?"

He shook his head. She nodded once more and stuck the food in her mouth, chewing as if she was eating the man who'd called her such a thing.

Draco looked between the planks of wood that boarded the windows from normal view and saw snowflakes spiraling down to the ground, joining the already-piled-high drifts of snow. He was seized by sudden inspiration. "Come with me," he said suddenly, standing abruptly. She looked surprised.

"Where?" she asked.

He only smiled and held out his hand. The meal was almost done anyways; it was an odd breakfast choice, but had been romantic. She seemed to deliberate following him again.

"We're going to be immature little children," he announced, "and we're going to love it."

She wasted no more time grabbing his hand.

He helped her to her feet, and then pulled her along. She ran along beside him, their footsteps getting faster and faster as his heart accelerated due to exposure to her touch; her hands always seemed to be warm, no matter how cold it was outside. Her hair flew behind her; they enjoyed running past more abandoned houses, until they came to the gate on the other side of Hogsmeade. He pushed it open gently, begging it not to squeak; it did not, and they resumed running. They both laughed out loud and the air swallowed the sounds of their mirth. Draco's body moved faster than it had in a while, pushed forward by her electrifying touch.

And then they reached a frozen and snow-covered pond. The snow pile on top of it was even, and only Draco knew it was there; she looked confused as to why they'd stopped. Waving his wand, the snow vanished, and just smooth ice remained. Her eyes lit up with the idea, and she looked to him, seeking confirmation that that was, in fact what they were going to do.

Draco nodded wordlessly and one by one, he transformed their shoes into skates.

"I've never skated before," she warned him seriously, "You'll have to hold me."

He smiled. "I can do that," he responded. And then he took her hand once more and they skated to the middle of the pond. She was wobbly and unsteady and he did hold her upright. she leaned into him almost romantically, her chest against his, but lower; he felt the star become squared between their bodies, and, as much as he loved their proximity, he was afraid she'd figure out the secret to it, and pushed her away slightly, placing one hand on her waist and the other on her hand.

"I'm going to skate with you in circles," he said, "Easy-peasy. You'll learn in no time."

And that she did. She could at least move on her own within the next half hour, and they skated badly but with the utmost fun together. She and he were both unwilling to let go of the other. They skated back and forth, to and fro, for a good hour at least; he spun her around several times, and words were useless; snow kept off the ice, but fell around them picturesquely. They fell down and got up and laughed at each other. They spun so much they got dizzy and 'hugged the ground' as Hermione out it once, defending her fall. Draco couldn't remember ever having this much fun before. Not Quidditch, not when he'd been allowed to build a snowman once. Not even when he'd gone to see _West Side Story_. Hermione's presence elated him; while it would have been an okay experience without her there, with her it was delightful and heavenly and made him feel that for that one moment, the world was at peace.

Her hair whipped him in the face once when he spun her, and, stunned, he stumbled backwards, only to fall on his butt. She laughed and held out her hand to him; he took it, and, trying to stand up, ended up pulling her down with him. She landed and exhaled an audible "Umph!" as her own bum hit the ground. Draco lughed at her, holding his stomach as he betnt over, his face above the ice as laughter racke dhis body; she hit his shoulder, fairly hard, but then laughed herself. They both fell back and their heads hit the ice, both mouths uttering guffaws unlike them. And then the guffaws dimmed to simple chuckles, and they both caught sight of each other's eyes, and the chuckles faded to small, soft giggles, and then were gone completely.

Her eyes were sending the warmest ribbons of fuzz through his sytems; everything but her went out of focus. Her skin, so perfect, tan and flushed a warm pink - her hair, so gorgeous, fanned out behind her like a silky curtain - her body, so slim, curved to perfection and hidden under slender clothing - her eyes, staring at him, making his senses go numb and his thoughts stop completely as he met her gaze. She was beautiful in every way possible. Intelectually beautiful, and physically beautiful. Her inside was as glorious as her outside.

His hand cupped her cheek gently, his ice-cold skin a shocking comparison to her own fiery complexion, it brought relief to both of them. She closed her eyes, and he did, too, letting the world cover them and their moment of bliss.

The reporters saw them coming, and shouted to one another; Hermione's hand in his was comforting and an ever-lasting flame as the cameras took pictures and pictures of them. The couples that flocked the streets now gossipped to one another about the Valentines walking down the road, holding hands and looking as if the world itself could shatter and they'd still be in tact.

"Are you two dating?" yelled one reporter. Hermione giggled, putting her free hand over her mouth and blushed.

"Nope," said Draco honestly, his tone chipper and his voice clear.

"What are you two doing together?" shouted another.

"Having a good day," Hermione responded, lowering her hand but still smiling like a schoolgirl - which, admittedly, she was, but it hardly counted.

"Why are you spending Valentine's Day together?"

"There's no reason why friend's can't," said Draco.

"So you're friends?"

"Absolutely," Hermione said proudly, squeezing his hand in a way that seemed more than friendly to him. His heart beat thrice as fast.

They continued to answer question with short and honest answers until they spotted Harry and Ginny waving at them from outside the Hog's Head, Ron and Hannah snogging each other next to them. They went to join them, enjoying how the reporters jumped from assumption to conclusion in one sentence; they fended off lies and spurned truths, until they reached the two.

"Where were you two?" asked Ginny. The reporters waited, on their toes.

"Off having a nice time," said Hermione with another secretive and yet honest smile.

Ginny rolled her eyes, but Harry took a deep breath, as if he'd been waiting for something. Ron and Hannah broke apart because of the annoying flashes, their lips red and swollen.

And then Harry got on one knee.

Ginny gasped and jumped a few feet in the air, her hand over her heart as if to steady it, like old ladies do. Her eyes wide, she watched as Harry drew a red velvet box from his pocket. "Harry?" she asked, inhaling while she said it so it came out a high squeak. Ron looked expectant, and Hermione was staring at Harry was if he was the most fascinating thing possible. Flashes from cameras really set the tone, in Draco's opinion. Added a real sense of the scope of exhilaration that must have come from Ginny.

Harry pulled back the red lid to reveal a simple gold band, with a small ruby set deep in the shining hold; it was simple, and perfect, and Ginny appeared to think so, too.

"Ginevra Molly Weasley," said Harry, looking into Ginny's terrified and yet pleadingly pleased eyes, his voice breaking with how thick his emotions were. "I love you, and... I had a whole speech practiced, but when I looked into your eyes, I forgot." He smiled sheepishly, his glasses sliding ever-so-slightly to the side of his nose. "I think it had something to do with me not being perfect, and about how I'll try if you'll accept this proposal. Also, I'm going to add I think you'll look great in my mother's ring." Ginny gave a start, and looked at the ring something anew. "Will you m-marry me?"

He knew Harry must have been feeling so nervous he had to refrain from vomitting while he'd planned this; but now, looking up at his true love, he was so sure of himself that it gave off roles and roles of complete trust and forever-lasting hope in her.

"Yes," Ginny whispered, seemingly beyond any word but that when she continued, "Yes, yes, yes!"

Harry glowed with jubilancy and tenderly plucked the ring from its hold, and slid it onto Ginny's extended ring finger, where it sat forever more.

"I was right," he told her, his voice caressing her ears and softening her features. "You do look great in it. Better yet; you look _right_ in it."


	40. Chapter 41

Draco watched Hermione as she pored over books in the library, apparently reading the textbooks for fun; she had all assignments for the year done. Every time she turned a page, his heart leapt to his throat; every time she settled into the long list of words, it'd skip a beat and then settle, like her. Her eyes moved so fast across the page they were a blur. She didn't even notice him watching. He smiled a small smile to himself whenever she finished a book. He'd been here for hours already today, watching her go through book after book, never tiring as he twired a quill between his fingers. Harry and Ginny had entered about an hour ago together, her engagement ring glittering under any light that shone on it, and his smile doing the same.

Just then, Harry sat down right beside him, looking at the red-head fiancee as she sat down next to Hermione, disturbing her peace. Draco reluctantly tore his eyes away, and turned to his friend. "Congratulations," he said again.

"Thanks," said Harry, his happiness almost pushing through his whisper and cause Madame Pince to glare at him. "I asked Ron if it would be okay, and then wrote to her father and every single one of her brothers."

Draco paused for a moment, before saying slowly, "If only you could've contacted Fred."

Harry's face fell the slightest bit. "George didn't have anything against it, so I can't imagine Fred would," he said honestly. And then he brightened. "Neville and Luna offered for it to be a double wedding. Ginny loves the idea."

Draco saw, out of the corner of his eye, Ginny whisper something to Hermione that made Hermione's face light up like a Christmas tree.

"I can tell," he said.

"Molly, though," Harry said, with a frown, "might be a bit miffed."

"What?"

"At me not asking her permission to marry her only daughter," Harry explained. "I assume Arthur told her, but he never said anything about it..."

Draco snorted. "After your mother wrote her that note, you marrying her only daughter must seem like a godsend to her."

Harry smiled. "You're right." He sighed.

Draco was curious. "How'd you get the ring?"

"What?" Harry had been admiring his fiancee - Draco had distracted him.

"How'd you get your mother's ring?"

"Oh." Harry's smile grew considerably. "They were in my vault, hidden under hundreds of gold coins that kept accumulating."

"When did you go to get it?"

"About two Saturdays ago," he said, turning his attention from Draco to Ginny. "God, she'd beautiful."

Draco's eyes, however, had strayed in that direction as well, and he couldn;t help but otice how her hair, still glossy waves from earlier that day, reflected the lights, but made them look like fairy flames. _She is_, he thought, and then felt like hitting himself. Glad he hadn't said it out loud, he saw Ron walking through the door, with Hannah on his arm, looking as if they'd just had a pleasing experience - judging from how Hannah held her legs apart, he felt fairly confident in guessing what is was. Ron sat down across from Harry and Hannah went to join the girls, who were giggling under their breath.

Harry raised his eyebrows at his friend and smirked. "How was she?"

Ron smirked back. "Better than most. Likes being on the bottom."

Draco's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. He had no idea that Ron and Harry were so open with their sex lives... nor that they ahd such avid ones.

"Waddaya think, mate?" asked Ron, tilting his head toward his girlfriend. "You'd tap that right?"

Draco shook his head, and Harry laughed into his hand. "I'd only tap your sister," he joked, and Ron screwed up his face. Draco and Harry laughed at him as he said, very louly, "Ew, Harry!" and Madame Pince shot him daggers with her eyes.

"Why wouldn't you, Draco?" asked Ron nonchalantly.

Draco shrugged. "Not my type."

Harry laughed again. "And Virginia Bradley is?"

Draco tensed and all color drained form his face. "How do you know about that?" he hissed at him.

"Easy there, mate," Harry said. "She's been telling everybody since this morning, when you left for Hogsmeade with Hermione."

If possible, Draco paled further.

And then Ginny sat down in front of him, looked him square in the eye, and said, "She's trying to figure it out."

Draco dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

"Figure what out?" asked Ron.

"The star," Ginny answered. Draco groaned again.

"What's so bad about that?" asked Harry, confused. "It's in her nature to research things."

Ginny looked to him for the approval to begin. He nodded. "Might as well let them know," he muttered, folding his arms on the table and hiding his face in it, leaving his ears open so he'd hear Ginnytell the story.

"Harry, you know the Tale of the Three Brothers."

"Yes," Harry responded, still confused.

"You know Ignotus, Cadmus and Antioch are the brothers in the tale, and that they were extremely powerful and gifted wizards."

"Yes." His beffudlement grew.

Ginny's voice lowered. "Antioch, the eldest, figured out some pretty impressive magic, and lent it to his friend, who, when he died, down the generations, passed it along until someone was smart enough to figure it out. And that person was none other than Gellert Grindelwald."

Harry huffed. "Get on with it, please," he said, exasperatedat this point.

Ginny sighed. "Gellert published Antioch's findings, in a short book with many long findings. Antioch had figured out the innerworkings of the heart, and it was something like an internal clock, a bomb, if you will. He figured out magic that has to deal with it - one thing being the Flame of Love, which can be put or encased in any object , and still burn. When given and then worn, the flame only dies when the love dies, or the reciever dies. If the giver dies, and happens to have the ring and still love the deceased reciever, the flame continues to burn. It only works for romantic love. Draco gave Pansy Parkinson an engagement ring with a Flame of Love inside it. It died when she did.

"Another was the Thrum, which has to do with heartbeats. When two lovers truly love each other and are resilient against it, or cannot/will not recognize the love, their heartbeats usually beat in tandem, to try and get the lovers to figure it out when their 'hearts beat as one'. However, one must take an object of some warmth of light from the universe - it doesn't work if it's cold or dark - and then basically let the light or warmth from the object enter ther heart, and then take it out - like the Deluminator and you, Ron, when it led you back to Harry and Hermione.

"The giver's heartbeat is now like a flame itself - it can be shared, but won't lessen, thought it might go out. This object that they've chosen now beats i exact time with the giver's heartbeat. The reciever will generally think it beats with their heart - and when the lovers begin to realize their love, it beats to the giver's heartbeat, which signifies that they're well and truly in love. Draco found the nacklac and it cost him a fortune without this spell, but he bought the star and enchanted it so this would happen, and gave it to Hermione, because... recent events... had confused him. And at first, it beat to her heartbeat - today, when they were skating and had been pressed together, he felt it beat to his own."

Silence met the end of her speech.

Draco was afriad to raise his head. He would not admit what the necklace was telling him; he would not let Hermione figure it out either. Giving it to her was a mistake. What scared him most was that the mention of Pansy's name only sent a few pinpricks into his heart, not the usual sword attack. He had loved her; the ring had proved that. And now, apparently, he loved Hermione.

No. No, he did not. He would not permit himself to love Hermione. It would screw everything up.

"Holy shit," breathed Rn, running his fingers through his hair and leaning back in his seat. "Well..."

"I'm... erm..." Harry was also at a loss of what to say.

Draco massaged his temples lightly, closing his eyes agaisnt the expressions he knew must be on their faces. "If you don't approve, I'll just... leave, or something."

"Don't leave," said Harry at once. "I mean... it beating to your heartbeat means she loves you too, right? She just won't admit it. So..."

"Don't you dare break her heart," finished Ron. "If you do, we'll break your neck."

"Ron!" Ginny reprimanded.

"We will, and you'd do the same to anyone who broke Neville's heart."

"I'd never hurt Luna."

"Besides her."

Draco slumped back into his hands. "Merlin..."

"What?" asked Harry.

"What on earth am I supposed to tell my mother?"

They all thought for a moment, and then Ginny said, "The truth."

"What?" Draco looked up immediately and saw that her face was completely honest. "How am I supposed to do that? 'Oh, mother, by the way, I never mentioned her or anything, but I happen to love the girl I teased for seven years.' That'll go over _really_ well."

"Tell her everyhting Ginny just told us," suggested Harry. "And then tell her about the circumstances with Hermione being in them. Not communicating with her for several months probably isn't the way to go this time."

"Come to think of it," said Ron, "Why does Ginny know all of this, and we don't?"

"We talked," said Ginny, "about everything, after they sang together."

"Why you?" Ron demanded.

"It often takes a best friend to see something you can't, even when you try," she said, looking up at Draco, whose grey eyes were troubled. "I suggested he give Hermione the necklace, just to see, actually, and... this happened."

"I'm not good enough," Draco muttered into his palms. "She deserves someone better."

"Yup," agreed Harry whole-heartedly, "But what she _wants_ is you. Draco, listen to me," he ordered, as Draco had shaken his head in disagreement. "You love her, right?"

Draco hesitated to answer. He didn't want to say anything like that, he'd only kissed the girls once. "It's obvious," he said, finding it sufficient and ambiguous enough to use.

"And she loves you. Draco, you are changed. You are different and you are better and you might actually be worthy of her at this point. She loves you - she wants you, and she needs you. You are a good person now, and deserve a good person, too. So, go end her curious sufferings and snog her."

Draco looked up into the green eyes of Harry, and he couldn't find an argument anymore.

"Go," said Ron softly. "Seriously, she's a good snogger."

Draco moaned. "Not what I needed to hear," he said.

Ginny's hand laid itself on his arm, and her brown eyes pierced his. "Go. For your friends -" she gestured to the table "- for Hermione, and for you."

Draco took a deep breath, nodded once, and stood.

His chest was hammering so oudly he wasn't surprised when she looked down at her necklace and was surprised when she didn't hear the source from across the room. Harry, Ginny, and Ron all gave him encouraging looks, and he made his feet trudge forward one by one until he stood by her.

"Hey," she greeted, looking at her necklace still. His heart was in his throat, and he felt it was about to throw it up. His hands were clenched in fists at his sides; his breathing came in short bursts, and his face was bright red and set as if in stone. To anyone other than himself, he must have appeared furious. To him, however, he was scared. Very, very scared. And very, very anxious.

"I need a word," he said through his teeth, trying not to spit the words at her. She looked up in surprise, and, seeing his demeanor, seemed incline to turn down his invitation. His heart hammered against his windpipe and he felt it was causing both the heart and the pipe damage. And then, she caught his eye - and saw the real emotions there, and tentatively accepted.

He turned and stalked outside, trying not to run out of the place where everyone was sataring at him. She heard Hannah ask, "What's he so angry about?"

He then heard Hermione answer, "He's not angry..." as if confused herself, but faithful in what she'd see in his eyes. He made it away from there and caught the door before it slammed shut; she walked through it a moment later, her easy gait as fluid as ever. He shut the door as quickly as he could, shut it on the prying eyes and shut it on the sounds of rumors spawning over his apparent anger.

Hermione turned to him when the door closed, and placed her hands on her hips. Draco was unsure how to start.

"You're not mad, are you?" she asked, and her voice as it questioned him dubiously caused his heart to stop and then start againas if he'd run a marathon and his competitors were clones of Voldemort.

He shook his head. "I'm... erm..." He sounded like Harry now.

And, without a second thought, he took the three steps to her, grabbed her palm and placed it on his chest.

"Feel that," he whispered the order. "The rhythm anything like what's pounding on your necklace?"

His heart had already sped up some from the electricity of her warm touch. and then, oddly enough, as she focused, the energy had a new effect. It drained the fear and anxiety from his chest and untied the knot of stress in his stomach; it made him relax. He now understood why Harry'd been so sure of proposing to Ginny after being so nervous; just being this close to her, mentally andphysically, was reassuring. Her eyes widened as she caught the beats as they changed tempos together, and snapped her head up to look at him.

Draco, without another word, began, never breaking eye contact with her, letting his eyes tell her what his mouth wouldn't. Told her everything; the long period of angst, how he'd gone through nights of restless dreams, and about how she'd cured everything inside him, while his lips gave her the explanation Ginny's had given Ron and Harry. Her eyes widened to the size of a House Elf's during this as she took it all in, but all the same, at the end, he felt as he had lying with her down at the lake when they'd fallen over skating. He waited for her response, but she seemed incapable of giving any.

"Hermione," he said at last, after waiting a good ten minutes of her internal sputtering, "Can I kiss you?"

Her hand, on his chest, crawled up an around his neck, her eyes never leaving his. Taking this as an affirmative, he leaned in slowly and pressed his forehead against hers; a cold marble skin against a hot, soft complexion; and then kissed her.

It was short, and it was sweet. His lips on hers, both sets moving in synchronization, gave him a natural high, a feeling of floating above the earth with her and just looking down, seeing the world as a whole instead of as just the one part that had been so wrong for so long. He saw the green and brown continents, the blue oceans and the white clouds spread over the entire globe, and for a moment, it seemed there were no flaws with the planet before him. In that moment, with her, the world was perfect, and there was nothing wrong.

He pulled his head away and rested his forehead on hers once more.

"Draco?"

"Mm?"

Her breath washed over his neck, and she smiled while she set it; his heart and the necklace set to an uneven pumping. "Kiss me again."


	41. Chapter 42

Hermione loved her life.

When news of her and Draco dating had reached the ears of all students, and it had been confirmed when they'd kissed when parting to go to classes, people had accepted it more than she could have ever hoped. Like at the end of the war, nobody was sitting according to houses anymore - they sat with friends and family and whoever they wanted to. Normal students sat ith the prefects and prefects sat with ormal students; Gryffindors struck up friendships with Slytherins, and all houses were united as one great school once more. Liccy, Tori, Theo and Blaise - she had managed to nickname him Laisy, to his great irritation - were ecstatic, and Harry and Ron were happy, even enthused. Ginny, Luna and Neville were the most supportive, oddly - Ginny, her best female friend, and Luna, her other, and Luna's partner ffought off the few skeptics that cornered her or Draco or both when they were together. Shared kisses and stolen time alone on the grounds of Hogwarts were how she spended her time. Her life was whole; she didn't worry about her love life, she didn't worry about her friends, she didn't worry about the task - the world was right. All was right.

Hermione's hand curled around Draco's. The sky, an almost translucent blue, was specked with the floating cotton of clouds. The grass that waved around their faces tickled her head slightly, and her hair, fanned out behind her, let her cool down with the slight breeze that wafted over them. Draco's normally cold grasp had heated somewhat for a time like this. Hermione squeezed his hand gently, and felt him squeeze back as the star resting on her chest thudded once quite forcefully.

" 'Mione?" his voice was easy-flowing and sounded natrual with the chirps of the birds surrounding them and the ripples of the lake a few feet from them.

"Mm?"

"It's embarrassing, knowing you can feel my heartbeat when I can't feel yours."

Hermione smiled slightly, and raised their intertwined hands, and slowly untangled his fingers from hers, placing his palm over her heart. "There," she said. "Now you feel our heart."

"Our?"

Her smile widened. "It already belongs to you, Draco, it just happes to be inside my chest."

Draco's eyes looked at her, her sweet words reverberating through their steel color, and her stomach was sent tying itself into oddly comfortable knots. His hand slid from over her heart to her waist, and he pulled her closer to him, almost close eough to kiss. Her hand rested on his smooth cheek, looking carved almsot from the gods themselves - no, he was a god himself. His full lips smiled at her, and there was nothing in the world better than where they were now. She got the feeling she often got with Draco - that the entire world was perfectly modeled into the most beautiful place in the whole universe. There was a simple kind of fluttering that her heart succumbed to when he touched her, caressed her like he was doing.

"Miss Granger?"

McGonagall's voice broke her out of her perfect moment and totally popped her pleasant bubble. She sighed, turning away from Draco and sitting up. "Yes, Professor?"

Draco sat up next to her and held her hand once more. She felt the internal balance once more.

McGonagall was scurrying toward them, the look on her face anything but the peace Hermione had just been feeling. "Come quickly," she said. "The Goblet is gone."

"Kingsley, what's happened?" Hermione demanded. _Honestly_, she thought completely to herself, _You'd think I might get over two months of absolutely nothing but a normal romance. But, no, of course not._ "The Goblet's gone? How?"

Ginny and Harry were standing, looking extremely uncomfortable, and Dumbledore's portrait was asleep, whilst the others were uninterestingly yawning and looking upon the scene with vague care that wasn't real. Hermione and Draco went to stand by the other couple, and McGonagall sat down in her chair.

Kingsley's tall form was pacing the room quickly, a tendon in his forehead sticking out. "Hermione," he said, "When you celebrated your late holidays with your friends and family, Miss Weasley noticed something go into the woods. Did she not?"

"She did," said Hermione curiously. Her eyes widened in realization and she looked to Ginny. "Was it... it was the Goblet, wasn't it?"

"It was, indeed, Miss Granger," said McGonagall tensely.

"How'd they get it out of the castle?"

"Someone got in."

Hermione and Draco shared a look.

"We believe it to be the same person who sent the lethifolds," said McGonagall.

Hermione's hand rose automatically to her throat, and felt the small scar from the wound of the lethifold that had bitten and poisoned her. Draco's hand in hers suddenly grasped much more forcefully. He looked at her, and she met his eyes. "Bubbles?" she whispered to him."The one who gave her the note...?"

Draco nodded.

"Who is Bubbles?" demanded Kingsley, stopping his pacing and looking at Hermione shrewdly. Harry and Ginny both stared, expectant.

"A House Elf," she answered. "She came up to me about two months ago with a note that said..." she looked to Draco, whose face looked angry. She squeezed his hand gently, and he relaxed a bit.

"Said what?" asked McGonagall.

"It called me a rather rude name," Hermione finished. "And no, it wasn't Mudblood," she added, seeing Kingsley's glance at Draco. Hearing Hermione say the word made Draco angy again, and a small vein in his neck stood out, his forehead red.

"What was it?" asked Harry, just as angry as Draco.

"Um..." Hermione looke up to Draco once more, and he nodded curtly. "It called me a filthy slut."

Harry's fist hit the book case, and Hermione jumped back, startled; Draco caught her while Ginny placed her hands on Harry's shoulders as he seethed. Ginny needed not even say anything, and Harry, looking into her eyes, calmed visibly.

"Where is this note?" asked Kingsley.

"I burned it," said Draco. Kingsley made no remark, but began to pace again.

"And Bubbles gave it to you?"

"She said someone made her," said Hermione at once, defending the elf. "Said they forced her to."

Kingsley nodded thoughtfully. "Minerva," he said, "Round up the other champions. There's been a change of plans."

"What do you mean?" demanded Ginny. "You're not sending them into the forest to find it?"

"That we are," said Kingsley.

Minerva leapt to her feet and Hermione's stomach churned uncomfortably. "They'll die!" she said. "Anyone who can penetrate the protections of the castle can kill three children easily!"

"Send Aurors in to get it," Harry suggested.

Kingsley shook his head. "Hermione has proved herself a witch beyond any measurement, and Simis and Brant knew what they were getting into entering the Tournament. We need the Goblet back."

"Kingsley, you know it's been acting up -" McGonagall started.

"Exactly!" Kingsley boomed, turned to face her, shoulders squared and head held high. "Until we can be sure it's safe, we have to keep it under lock and key!"

"Lot of good the lock and key did!" McGonagall shouted. "Hermione nearly died several times this year, and these challenges aren't supposed to be fatal! I let you do the second, Shaklebolt, don't push the third!"

"They're supposed to be challenges, not doing a spell you've done numerous times before for ten minutes!"

McGonagall's face was red and blotchy in her anger, and the kids cowered under the glare she gave Kingsley - even he seemed to shrink. "I. Am. Not. Losing. My. Head. Girl."

"You won't lose me, Professor," said Hermione faintly. "I can ge the Goblet and get back out."

"Hermione," hissed Harry under his breath - McGonagall's eyes turned to the speaker in shock, and Kingsley looked triumphant. Draco's hand left hers, and his arm encircled her waist, drawing her closer to him. "No," he growled, loudly enough for everyone to hear but still quitely enough for it to be an angry purr in her ear.

"Drake," she said, turned in his arms so her hands were on his chest and their eyes met,"I can do this."

"I know you _can_," he said, his expression softening as it met hers. "But you _won't_. Not if I can help it."

"Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall, "As your Professor, I've very proud of you as a student. You and Miss Granger here -" she nodded to Hermione "- are the best pupils I've ever taught. If anyone can do it, you two can."

"What about Brant and Simis?" asked Harry.

McGonagall looked at Kingsley, her eyes daring him to defy her words. "I say, if you are forcing my students to walk to their demise, they will take their partners with them."

"Professor!" said Harry, paling, "You can't expect me to let Hermione go in there alone!"

Draco placed a hand on Hary's shoulder. "I'll keep her safe," he promised, his voice barely comprehensible. Harry didn't like the idea, and that much was obvious; he was tight-lipped and still ashen-faced, but he nodded. Draco's hand returned to her waist.

"I can and do, Harry," said McGonagall. "You've been in enough trouble as it is, and I'm sure Ginny would oppose to you leaving her behind again."

Ginny turned to Harry, fire in her eyes. "You," she said vehemently, "Do _not_ get to run off with another girl."

Harry laughed out loud, color flooding back into his face. "It's never been like that," Harry told the red-head honestly. "Besides," he said, suddenly grinning, "Does she have a ring on her finger?"

All tension between those two in the room was cut, and they embraced. Hermione looked up awkwardly at Draco, and down again. Her star throbbed as it had since Kingsley had started talking. She leaned her head on Draco's broad chest comfortably.

"No," said Kingsley to McGonagall. "No partners. This is just them, it's their task and theirs alone."

"Why?" McGonagall demanded.

"What if the other two don't have partners?" Kingsley retorted. "How is it fair that Hermione goes in there with help and they don't?"

"How is it fair that Hermione competes in the second task battered and bloodied when the other two are fine, and she didn't enter the contest in the first palce?"

"One - the Goblet chosen her as a Champion, there was no going back. Two - she didn't have to compete in the second, she wanted to."

"Send the boys in with one of their friends!"

"They might turn on them."

McGonagall loked ready to say Draco might turn on Hermione; but then she sighed in defeat. She had no choice. She gave Kingsley a bitter, piercing look, and then flounded angrily from the room.

"When will the task be?" asked Draco to a quiet Kingsley, his voice trembling.

"The best time would be tomorrow," Kingsley decided, his tone final.

Hermione's knees buckled and both her heart and the star stopped momentarily. "Tomorrow," she mouthed, burrying her face in Draco's shoulder and letting him hold her.

"Dave?" called Hermione, entering the classroom.

She gasped.

There sat David, cross-legged on the floor, amongt scattered paintings and sketches and drawings of the finest magnitude. There were landscape oil paintings of the familiar rolling hills of the grounds, there were drawings of creatures, like unicorns, that were strikingly beautiful. And there were plenty of sketches of her. In this sketches, she always looked ready for anything, determined and prepared. He turned to look at her and smiled. The light from the windows scattered across the room, lighting up individual sketches and paintings and drawings with separated beams - one fell upon a sketch of her face in darkness, the only color in her eye, a reddish-brown flame.

"Hermione," he greeted. Following her gaze, he smiled. "That one turned out rather well, did it not?"

She noticed that in his lap was a piece of parchment and besidre him a quill and ink; there was writing on the paper. "What's that?" she asked.

"My will," he answered, without hesitation. He set it aside and stood, swinging his legs to one side like he does and lifting his weight with his right leg. "What's wrong?" he asked, noticing her creased forehead. "Not Draco? Did he -"

"Draco did nothing," she said, interrupting him and shaking her head. "It's the task."

His own forehead creased. "What about it? Do you feel you need to practice?"

"It's tomorrow, Dave."

"Tomorrow!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening. "How is that fair? But, I suppose, it's a Patronus -"

"That's not the task anymore, either."

He froze, and his chin jutted out ever-so-slightly, the way hers did when she was being diliberately stubborn. "Well, what's the task?"

"The people who made the lethifolds attack me, the people who ordered a House-Elf to give me a note calling me a filthy slut, apparently took the Goblet of Fire into the forest. And we have to retrieve it."

David sputtered wildly, and Hermione's chest constricted, afraid he'd say he couldn't help her.

There was one minute.

Two.

Three.

Four.

"Well," he said at last. "I suppose we'd better try and figure out why they took it into the forest -"

She was already shaking her head. "It's of no use. I can't think of any reason besides luring us there - and it's working. We have to."

She took a step forward, to embrace him, comfort him and tell him she'd be fine, though not even she believed it, when he gave a start.

"What?" she asked.

"Stay right there," he breathed.

"What are you - oh!" Hermione watched as he scurried about the room with an easy gait, picking up paints and an easel and a blank canvas from the six along the wall. "Are you going to paint me?"

He nodded. "The light, it hit your face perfectly - you're stunning," he said absent-mindedly. "It's perfect."

Hermione, for a brief fraction of a second, forgot she was walking to her death, forgot she was running away from Draco and towards something unknown, which was odd - she liked, no, yearned, to know everything. He was flattering, and not in the over-dose kind of way that was cheesy; he said them as side comments, as if commenting lightly on the color of a house. And that was what made them honest.


	42. Chapter 43

Hermione's head rested comfortably in the crook of Draco's shoulder, and she stared unappetizingly at her breakfast, today's bland oatmeal in seemingly contrast to the turmoil raging in her stomach. People had already began to clear out of the Great Hall to get seats for the task. They wouldn't be able to see what was in the forest, or going on, rather, but they'd see them all go in and they'd see who - if anyone - came out. Harry, Ron, Neville, Ginny, Luna and Hannah had all gone to get seats first thing, Harry and Ron embracing her tightly and the others giving her reassuring smiles and pats on the back. She could tell Ginny had wanted to do more, but even her reassuring smile looked more to herself than Hermione. The red-head was too worried to beproperly worried - Hermione knew that somehow it made sense, but she wasn't sure how. The hall was mostly empty, and McGonagall had, at one point, grasped her wineglass so tightly it'd shattered and spilled. David was trying to seem nonchalant about everything, but even his brow would furrow with concern occassionally as he looked at his own breakfast. Draco was trying to put on a brave face. He'd rolled his food over and over again, sometimes taking bites so she'd see and eat, but other times just looking at it like she did. His skin had increased dramatically in warmth over the night, because the whole time, they'd been in each other's arms.

_Hermione had her eyes closed, shut tightly, wrinkled in concentration as she tried to count sheep and sleep; coutning sheep was supposed to be a boring activity, but her heart was hammering so she couldn't focus on any one thing and when she tried, she succeeded - the sheep were all different. Some were overly-fluffy, some were thin-wooled and they came in the normal sheep colors, the majority of them being white; she thought of them jumping over a white picket fense, with a grassy green hill expanding into the distance and meeting with a sapphire-colored sky. The deatail was so sharp, she tried to make it sharper still, and fought off other thoughts as she focused, focused, focused. One, two, three..._

_She had reached three hundred and seventy-two when the door to the dormitory creaked open slightly. Immediately, her eyes flew open and she reached for her wand, her fingers curling around the familiar wood. She sat up and pointed the wand directly at the door, which revealed - Draco._

_She lowered her wand at once, the girls in the dorm besides her still sleeping soudly, their snores and tosses in their beds oddly calming._

_He had undoubtedly seen her reaction, and smiled gravelly. "Come," he whispered - she never heard it, per say, but she saw him mouth it and felt the air around him tense. She'd become so adept at the little things about him, noticing even when he exhaled the slightest bit, that now, she could sense every breath he took by the basic and rhythmic thud-thud, thud-thud of the star she wore around her neck. She nodded once, and carefully and slowly, so as not to awake her dorm mates, she stepped out of bed, her feet shocked by the cold floor. She took quiet and light steps across the ground, not failing to notice how Draco looked over her quickly, clad in a scanty night-gown, and then discarded it, choosing to admire her eyes instead - how does one not love a man who ignores your body and loves _you_?_

_He grabbed her hand and their temperatures, now hardly different, mixed. Her heart fluttered, as was normal when he touched her at all, and the star wobbled in its beats._

_He then took her from the dorm, turning them knob and closing the door silently. He led her away from the dormitory and out of the common room entirely. She was suspicious, but trusted him completely, so she did not ask where they were going as they plodded along silently, hoping ot to attract the attentions of any ghost browsing over the area._

_He led her to the door of the broom cupboard where she'd hid after hearing Ron and Lavender break up and smiled at her, now anxious and nervous at the same time. She loved it when his eyes lit up like that. His free hand turned the knob, and pulled the door open quietly, so quietly you'd have heard a pin drop. Hermione stifled her gasp with her hand, biting dow on her palm to keep from exclaiming._

_Inside the little cupboard was an entirely new room. It had a dark brown carpet, soft ad plush under her feet as she hesitantly entered. The walls were gold and silver, choosing the secondary colors for both of their respective houses, and bare from any shelves or cluttered materials. The cieling was raised another five or so feet, and was colored beige, a green chandelier anging from it, its candles burning a red flame; a perfect unity of their different house placements once more. The chandelier hung above a large double bed that had been made with cream-colored sheets - it had an ornately carved frame of darkened wood that glistened in the candlelight. The room was warm, and inviting, and completely innocent, and yet she wasn't sure about what it all meant, and she was nervous, too - a double bed and not another bed in sight. Did that mean he was planning...?_

_She looked at him curiously, and he led her to the bed and sat down gently, flicking his wrist and closing the door, and with aother flick locking it. She sat down next to him, and he whispered, "Muffliato," at the door._

_He turned to her. "Tell me."_

_"Tell you what?"_

_"Tell me when you started having feelings for me."_

_"Hm..." she thought for a moment. "Started having, or started aknowledging?"_

_"Started having."_

_She thought some more. "Probably when you asked Ginny's permission to call her Weaslette."_

_He grinned boyishly. "That stuck, didn't it? Now I call her Ginny."_

_She laughed quietly. "Tell me," she said softly, not wanting her voice to carry but knowing it wouldn't, not with the spells he'd put up._

_"The first Yule Ball," he said immediately._

_Her eyebrows shot up. "That long ago?" She was shocked._

_Draco put his hand beind her hair and brought her head closer to his, their foreheads touching. "There was not an insult I could throw at you," he whispered, his breath washing over her flushed face and cooling it somewhat. "Do you remember? The whole ball, I was thinking about possible insults, and realized not one would apply, because, right then, you were perfect."_

_She frowned. "Are you saying I wasn't perfect after that?"_

_It was his turn to laugh. "You're not perfect, Hermione, that was a poor choice of words... How about, you're perfect _for me_? And you have been since, I've just been too blind to see it."_

_"I'm not perfect?"_

_He smiled. "For me, you are. Hermione," he said, noticing her dubious expression, "you're not supposed to be perfect, but I'm supposed to love your flaws, because they're part of you."_

_Hermione's heart swelled to the bursting point and she feared it would shatter from the affection. But being with him made every part of her whole and she knew she'd be alright when he was there._

_They managed to exchanged a few pleasantries before sharing a kiss that electrified her brain and made everything clearer than before. Falling back onto the bed, their arms around each other, their lips moving into synchronizatiion, the soft pillows welcomed them and fit to their heads perfectly. When they pulled apart, they both had their eyes closed, and did not repoen them the whole night; they slept in a loving and romantic embrace, their dreams sweetened by the other._

Hermione wasn't done remembering this when she realized Draco was standing with her in the Champion's tent, and the roar of the crowd was almost defeaning, even hidden away.

Sudden fear gripped her heart. Everything went out of focus and her blood ran cold. She gripped Draco's hand with vice-like strength, her knuckles white as her face, which had lost all color. Her body seemed detatched from her mind - she could not get her body to move, whereas her mind was moving at a million miles an hour. She was dizzy and barely saw the ground rushing at her face and felt Draco's arms catch her. And after she was upright again, she realized she'd been falling. "Hermione," Draco whispered, his voice urgent, his grey eyes filled with a burning fear that she felt twisted her stomach into knots. "Hold your star."

Hermione, barely realizing what she was doing, grabbed her star as she'd grabbed his hand - the star was barely beating, and feebly at that. As she looked into his eyes to find solace, she felt it restart. The warm pulsing of it against her palm was a soothing beat, steady now.

"Feel that," he whispered, "In the forest. Know I'm scared for you, but I'm not going to say goodbye - for two reason; one, I believe you'll get out. And two, you'd not accept it anyway." He grinned suddenly.

Hermione felt tears start in her eyes and she flung her arms around him, hugging him to her, promising to herself that when she could, she'd grab him again.

"Hermione," called Kingsley, opening the flap of the tent and looking at her. "You're all starting at the forest's edge. Come on."

Hermione nodded, and as he left, she looked to Draco, eyes wide and her heart beating against her ribcage painfully.

He smiled at her. His fingers pushed a lock of hair behind her ear again, and he let his fingers drop to the back of her neck, bringing her close and kissing her forehead gently, his lips' touch bringing oceans of comfort.

She could not bring herself to look at him once more. He went to leave the tent by one flap, and she went to the other. She forced herself not to look back, knowing that if she did and she saw him looking, she'd not be able to push herself forward to get to the task.

She moved with ghost-liked steps, not even recognizing individual voices in the crowd as they cheered her on. The air was frail, like clouds about to rain, but she dared not look up to check. She kept her eyes on the ground and focused intently on her feet and the ground they trod on. One step, two steps...

She found her feet meeting up with another pair, and looked up to find Simis, smiling nervously. She raised an eyebrow. "Why are you smiling?"

"Well, you can always pretend you've searched by finding an empty clearing, rubbing grass and twigs in your hair, sitting or napping for half and hour and coming back out," he answered in a conspiratorial whisper.

She felt the disgusted look on her face. "You won't even try? You don't have a plan to win?"

"I have a plan to stay alive," he snapped, seeing her look and his smile vanishing.

Their eyes met and a fiery line of energy passed between them before they both looked away, angry and awkward.

"Ah, you're all here," said Kingsley, striding up to them. "Right. the task is simple. Look for the  
Goblet as well as you can, and if you can't, get out quickly. If you do, don't die, grab it and get out quickly. Good? Good. Wait -" he looked at bith of them. "Where's the other?"

"I'm here!" Brant shouted, coming out of the tent right then and jogging to join them. The Einsworth students clapped and cheered loudly - but all schools and all students had cheered for her and her struggles, and she couldn't help the twinkle in her eye she got whenever she felt slightly superior. "I heard your speech," he informed the Minister, "I know what to do."

"Good," Kingsley repeated himself. "Alright. You have ten minutes before the canon sounds to talk to your partner."

They all looked to Filch, standing by the canon, waiting for it to prove them wrong. When nothing happened and he sneered at them unbecomingly, Kingsley sounded vaguely interested when he said, "I guess you really do have ten minutes. Partners!" he then called, waving over the other two Headmasters and David. McGonagall looked anything but happy.

"Hermione," said David, upon reaching her, "I'llbe right here when you get back. We're all behind you," he added, "All the schools ad students gathered here."

"Dave, I can't - I can't do it -" Hermione was beginning to fee the wear of the loss of Draco's touch.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and frowned reprimandingly. For the first time, he lookedlike a teacher, and a very strict one at that. "Miss Granger," he said, "Hermione Jean Granger, the world has heard of and watched your struggles for seven years. If we believe you can do it, you should believe too."

"I nearly always had help -"

He was already shaking his head. "No, Hermione. You were the help. Without you, Harry and Ron wouldn't have lasted a day looking for Horcruxes. Without you, Draco would have -"

"Have what?" Hermione jumped at her boyfriend's name.

David seemed to have said too much. "Never mind. If he wants you to know, he'll tell you."

She gave him a dirty look.

His voice turned desperate, as if to give her information. "Hermione, in my will -"

The canon blasted just then, and Hermione heard Kingsley shouting at Filch angrily for being unable to control a Muggle canon. She looked to David and urged him to finish his sentence, but he smiled instead, and pushed her toward the forest. "Go," he told her. "I'll be here when you get back."

She hesitated, one foot in the wild brush of the forest, the rest of her body out and looking at him nervously. Simis and Brant had bolted into the forest, and the crowd was waiting for her to enter, chanting her name again and again - she even saw McGonagall joining in - and David mouthed, _Go_.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, threw her shoulders back, and sprinted.

She dodged trees and bushes as the roaring of the crowd was left behind her. Her feet created a solid thump against the silent forest. There were no birds chirping, and the air still smelled of rain. She looked up now; she saw dark, brooding clouds; she looked back down to avoid hitting a particularly thick oak. She veered away from the tree and continued forward, not looking where she was running. She couldn't hear the crowd now, and she counted beats of her star and tried to time her footsteps to them, but it was difficult. Draco must have had a ranging ability to have complete faith in her and complete distrust in the circumstances, because one moment it would beat normally and the next eratically, and sometimes just stop for a second or two. She wished she could be by him, hold his handand soothe him, tell him it would be okay.

And then her right foot placed itself and her full weight over a pile of leaves, and she found that the leaves immediately vanished over an empty, deep pitfall. She screamed as she tumbled headfirst into the dark of the hole, where the few beamss of light that made it through the thick canopy of the tree leaves could not reach. As opposed to the time in the tent where she'd pitched forward and Draco had caught her, this time, she knew she was falling - her heart dropped to her stomach.

And then she hit the dark earth and her neck was bent unnaturally as she'd tried to reposition herself to land on her back - she landed on her shoulders and her chin hit her collarbone painfully. She gasped as little orbs of light floated in front of her eyes. She couldn't catch her breath, yet knew she had enough; she couldn't make herself move, because whenever she did, her spine sent jolts of pain down her back and into her legs that were almost too much to bear. She lay on the ground, wondering if they heard her scream, because she hadn't heard them shouting and cheering, after a while - but maybe they'd stopped -

She's unconsciously moved her neck and her vision cut off for a second, and when it did, she found her hearing cut off too. She felt like she was hiding in somewhere dark and silent, and then realied - her hearing and sight hadn't stopped working, the tiny bit of light from above had been covered up by a looming shape, and the forest was silent. And then she heard a crunch of pawshitting both sides of the hole's edges. Dirt crumbled from the top and bumped itself off the dirts walls so little pieces flew onto her. She looked up at the figure, wndering what could be so big.

And then she spotted something sharp glint under it - a fang.

A fang.

And the edges of this shape were billowing.

A lethifold.

She bit her lip to keep from screaming, and felt her skin break with the firceness of her bite. She stared in horror as the lethifold descended down into the hole, sliding along a wall. She thought wildly about her last time with Draco, completely alone, before the broom closet - she remembered how he'd laid with her by the lake, soaking up the sunlight - she remembered how the sun had gleamed, just... just like the star pulsing on her chest.

She moved her arm as the lethifold moved toward her as it hand before, and she heard a breathing, just a sliver of air going in and out, that she hadn't before, and she felt her hand grasp her wand. She managed not to scream in pain as she pointed her wand at the creature and shouted, "_Expecto_ _Patronum_!"

A silver otter burst forth from her wand and charged at the lethifold head-on, and the lethifold gave an inhuman shriek before it turned from a black cloak to a black smoke that rose above her head and curled into the night arm dropped immediately, but her Patronus stayed, and floated down to her level.

She wasn't controlling it at this point, and, eyes wide, she watched as it nudged her star, and took on the fiery gold color of it, the warmth and light of the object spreading across the invisible threads of sleek fur. It seemed to act o its own. Hermione stared at it, ad it sat on its haunches like an obedient dog awaiting a command.

"Tell Kingsley, McGonagall, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and David they've set traps and not to follow me, because I'm fine," she ordered, without thinking. "And relay that last part to Draco."

The otter bobbed its head, and rose as if to take off - but it seemed opposed to lying, and it licked her stomach softly, its invisible tongue soft through the fabric of her shirt. She watched and cried out as it licked her again, and she felt the bones in her back shift once more - and then, to her surprise, the only pain was in her heart, from the hammers slamming it against her chest bones. The otter gave a smile from its eyes alone and then soared over her head and dug its claws into the dirt wall - it left footholds all the way up for Hermione to climb, even though it need only float.

Hermione propped herself up on her elbows and watched it disappear in amazement, thoroughly mystified as to how that happened. She happened to notice a particularly odd stone right next to her, and reached out for it innocently, possessively putting it in her pocket. And then she remembered her cirumstances, and stood. She walked over the uneven ground, not bothering to wipe the dirt off of her clothing or out of her hair, and grabbed the highest hold she could reach - she began to climb. The dirt seemed to solidify wherever she chose to hoist herself up further, and she had no problems scaling a wall that had to be over fifteen feet tall. She bent over at the top, using her upper body's weight to push her lower half up, and soon she was lying face-down in the forest's dirt floor. She got onto her knees, and looked around, her wand pointed around her in a general direction.

She didn't know where to go next, and she wasn't up to running again - she was already out of breath - and so she started in the direction she thought must be north, away from the castle, where they'd probably taken the Goblet. Who'd steal soemthing and keep it close to where they stole it from? It made no sense to her, and she realized that there was a very distinct possibibility that they'd taken it through the forest and off Hogwarts grounds and then apparated away with it, but she had some sort of nagging feeling in the back of her mind that told her it was in the forest.

And then hoofbeats of an entire centaur populus welcomed her, and she immediately dropped her wand, knowing they'd respond to it. She turned around and saw a whole tribe, looking at her with indifference.

"You should not be here," said the one in the front, whom she immediately recognized as Bane.

"I know," she said, "but I was sent here."

"For what purpose?" asked one behind him, his horse's chest undulating.

"To retrieve something very valuable stolen from the castle."

A different one hissed, and she took a step back. "If it was brought into the woods, it is on Hogwarts ground!"

"It..." she tried not to sound possessive. "Look, I know that you are protective and appreciative of your land, because it is, after all, your land -"

She saw most of them loosen up as she said the land was theirs. Knowing she was a little safer to proceed, she continued:-

"- and I swear that I never meant to hurt any part of it. somebody dug this hole," she said, pointing to it, "as a trap for either me or one of my two other companions who've also been sent in."

"What is this object you seek?" asked Bane, his voice flat.

"The Goblet of Fire," she answered readily, not expecting any reaction and her expecttions becoming a reality. "It is extremely dangerous when tampered with and somebody's been tampering with it. I'm afriad what it might loose will hurt your land. I want to get it out of here and where it can be fixed so it doesn't hurt you or your land." The last part was true, though she hadn't thought of it before hand - she was improvising her brains out here, and she didn't

"What might it loose? We can protect ourselves," shouted one in the back, and there was a whinney of agreement.

"It might loose any number of things," she responded, "including, a..." she thought back to the day she'd been shown the Goblet's malfunction. "... Manticore."

The effect was blunt. The centaurs whinneyed and neighed with indignation and territorial pride, but they seemed to realize if it was to conjure a Manticore, their land and themselves could and probably would be wiped out. Hermione waited patiently for the tribe to calm; when it did, Bane spoke.

"We will help you find this object," said he, "to protect our land. and then you must leave."

She nodded. "I've no qualm with that."

Bane turned his head over his shoulder. "Someone volunteer for the witchto ride!"

"Oh, no!" Hermione cried, raising her left hand inprotest as her right still held her wand. "I don't want to ride you, that's derrogatory - the last thing I want to do is belittle you."

Bane eyed her curiously, until she began to feel itchy from his speculation, and then said, "You are wise in the ways of rhetoric."

"Thank you," said Hermione. "The search will go faster should we split up."

Bane raised an eyebrow cynically. "and these companions of yours?"

"If you see two boys about my age, but a little taller," she said, "ask if their names are either Simis Travelton or Brant Kensworth. One has an American accent, the other a slight Russian one you have to focus on to hear. Brat is the American, Simis the Russian."

Bane nodded. "Separate!" he barked to the tribe, "And do not kill unless you can't help it!"

Hermione watched as they all galloped away, until one was left behind.

"You are the Granger girl?"

"Yes."

He smiled kindly at her, and sauntered forward, and though the action was smooth and supposed to be reassuring, she had to fight the urge to run. His index finger began to reach toward her star, and she had a fleeting moment of panic. "Don't touch it, please," she said abruptly, trying her best to sound up-beat but sounding territorial, and knowing that was a mistake with a centaur, she bit her tongue quite literally.

But he smiled even more kindly, and his finger brushed agaisnt it.

All of a sudden, the glow brightened so much she had to close her eyes; it was blinding, and even then she had to cover her face with her hands. She didn't know what to make of the magic today. It scared her and worried her that she knew none of it.

"We centaurs know magic you humans do not," said the half-breed gently. "And I do believe that this is one of the finest pieces of human magic I have seen. However, it can be improved..."

Hermione tried not to squeak, "It needs no modifications."

He didn;t sound convinced. "Would you like to be able to communicate with him?" he asked. "To totally and completely be able to tell what he is thinking?"

It was tempting, but Hermione knew for certain that a relationship required trust, and she very well might just show him that she didn't trust him if she allowed the centaur to modify it - also, she might discover that he did not trust her, and she wouldn't be able to take that, so no; she did not wat to be able to read his mind and vice-versa. "No," she said.

The red tinge her eyelids had taken faded to black, and she lowered her arm and opened her eyes again; the star still shone on her chest, the same as it always had, and the centuar backed away. She saw the excitement in his eyes fade out, and felt guilty.

"It is all the same," he said nuetrally, begining to leave.

"What is your name?" she called after him as he began to gallop away.

"Avenil," he shouted back, disappearing beyond trees.

She stood for a moment, secretly wishing that she had accepted the offer. To be able to tell when he was lying - to know everything, to be able to help him! She could comfort him and connect with him on new levels previously unknown to magic, and she could, at the very least, figure out how it worked. But she had turned it down, and with good reason.

There was a movement deep into the wood on her right. She whipped her head and her wand around, prepared for another centaur to step out - but nothing happened. Cautiously, she began to move toward the source. Nothing else happened as she stepped between trees with spindly branches that looked like fingers - spindly branches that looked as if they'd grab her -

They did.

With twigs as fingers and leaves as claws, they grabbed at her, whipped her face and arms repeatedly as she turned and began running, trying to get away. Some thick, bendable branches struck out as she would pass. One hit her square in the stomach, and the air gushed out of her lungs; another cut open her forehead, and bloog gushed from her wound; the other tripped her, and she scraped from the cut on up to her hair on the branch that had hit her head so her hair got tangled tightly in the branches, and her head was jerked back painfully as her body tumbled over the middle branch. The brach could not hld her entire weight, though, and she was loosed so she crumpled - but she was back on her feet quickly, ignoring the blood as it dripped down the sides of her face and down the middle of her nose, through the dirt that crowded the egde of the slash from her filthy landing in the hole. The branches made to grab at her once more, but she pointed her wand, and shouted, "Immobulus!" and they stilled. She panted heavily, cathing up with her breath, and then, not even thinking, she began to run again, faster this time.

The smell of blood nauseated her as she sprinted through the trees, hoping these wouldn't grab her - they didn't, but she had to lean to avoid them as she ran, her feet hitting the groud hard, almost too hard, sending foot shock shooting up her ankles. She ignored this pain, as well as the stinging from the whipped cuts she'd gotten from the tiwgged branches as the rain began to fall lightly and the drops landed on them. She huffed heavily, her chest heaving and her body crying for rest; she gave none. She continued onward as the sprinkle grew into a drizzle that matted the dirt and grime to her face, and mixed it with the crimson that exitted the wound on her forehead.

And then, through the trees, in the midst of four patricularly thick ones, was a tree stump, and on it sat - the Goblet of Fire.

She did not think.

She did not think that it was a trap, she did not think that it was a portkey, she did not think that it had been placed there with no protection. She gave no thought to its lack of security or seemingly random placement; she gave no thought to anything.

She lunged forward and grabbed it.

As soon as her hand touched the right handle, she felt herself begin the familiar sensation of travelling by portkey. She was spun around as her feet were torn from the ground dizzyingly and when she landed a moment later, she found herself once more face-down in dirt, and the cup lying several feet from her, its blue glow dying as embers of a fire did. She was confused and scared, and looked around her with an unsatisfactory and nervously agitated glance that really picked up on nothing, and scrambled to her feet, holding her wand out in front of her, slouched over in a protective stance. She was surrounded by trees, still, but the gorund here was barren, not filled with lush grass like the rest of the forest. It was clay dirt, and the rain that had begun to truly come down made it muddy; she lifted her foot gingerly, hating the squelching sound, and made a face.

There was the sound of a breaking twig behind her, and she whirled around, a spell on her tongue.

"Oh, Brant," she said, sighing with relief and lowering her hand. He began to walk over to her, his own feet squealching against the ground, and she asked, looking around, "Do you know where we are? How did you get here? Did -"

There was suddenly a fist connected with her jaw, and she heard it crack before she felt it; and then she did feel it, and stumbled back, falling to her knees and clutching it.

"What... the... hell?" she sputtered at him. "Brant?"

"Oh, that's right," he said, sneering a very un-Brant-like sneer at her - a sneer that reminded her terribly of how Lucius Malfoy had looked at her in second year in Diagon Alley. "You still think I'm _this_." He gestured to his body widely, which was becoming soaked thoroughly by the downpour that had begun, making anything over a shout incomprehensible.

"What-?" she was beyond confused. She looked into those surfer eyes of his, and found nothing but hostility. Wasn't this the man who'd helped her, talked to her, kissed her...?

He knelt down in front of her and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "That's right," he said, seeing her eyes widen as she took in the information that now circulated in her mind. "I set the lethifolds loose in the castle, I sent the note, I was the one who's been plotting against you." He then proceeded to spit in her face, and she couldn't wipe it off, because rough hands grabbed her arms and twisted them behind her, letting her cry out in painful realization. "It was I who stole the Goblet, and I tampered with it to begin with." He grinned evilly, as if this was the mot natural thing to admit to.

An unconscious figure was dragged out of the woods behind Brant by none other than Augustus Rookwood, and Hermione stifled a scream, because nobody would hear her now and she knew it. Simis's bloody head was bent an broken, literally - they'd beaten him so forcefully his face had become distorted, and she struggled uselessly, trying to reach him.

"Why?" she asked Brant. That was the only question she could ask now - the only answer she needed.

As an answer, Brant lifted his wand and waved it in front of himself, and Hermione saw as his own rain-drenched, American surfer features morph into that of feautures she could have sworn she'd seen before. And she realized where as she saw him smile once more; the papers when the loose Death-Eater list had been published.

"Rabastan Lestrange," she whispered, fearful.

"Yes," he said, proudly: "It's me. Tell me, does my dolt of a nephew realize what filth he's dating?"

Hermione lashed out before she could stop herself. As she tried to break free, the arms holding her twisted more painfully, and she felt her head shoved down by another set of hands.

"Thank you, brothers," said Rabastan easily. Another lightbub clicked.

"Rodolphus and Randilphias," she muttered.

"Very good," he awarded her, suating down to her level, and looking her in the eye, his coal black one soulles to the pointof a Dementor being rendered useless but happy. "Mudblood," he added, "Mudblood slut."

"I'm still a virgin!" she said through clenched teeth, feeling the anger rise up and take her mind by control.

He clucked his tongue. "And you'll die one, Mudblood," he said, "Becuase I refuse to let my dickhead nephew touch such filth, and who else would?"

"If I'm good enough for him, I'm good enough for many," she said, and felt her hair yanked back so her head titled upward and into matching black eyes.

Rabastan snorted and stood up again. "Good enough," he chuckled, "For a couple shags, maybe, and then casting you aside is the thing to do, if not murder your filthy little highness."

Hermione growled, "I am like a Queen to the Wizarding World!"

"You are a failure and an insolent child!" shouted Rabasta suddenly, his face becoming apoplectic.

"I'm a success and a brilliant woman!" she bellowed back.

Behind her back, she dared not move her fingers, for fear of drawing attention to the fact that she still held her wand.

"Lies!" he belittled her, "Dirty lies like your dirty blood!" And then he was crouching in front of her again, his fingers tracing the trail of a drop of blood from the cut in her forehead that had swallowed the dirt from the ground whole. "See?" he said softly, in control once more. "Real dirt in your blood."

Hermione spat at him, and got him in the eye.

He shouted a particularly nasty word and reeled back, and she shot a stunning spell from her wand at random. It appeared to have hit someone to the left, because her hands were released and footsteps from behind her ran there. Without looking, she aimed once more and shot another, and then another when she heard more footsteps coming; she aimed _Petrificus_ _Totalus_ at a shocked Rabastan, and he became as stiff as a board on the ground. Rising to her feet, she shook out her wrists and faced what was left of the clearing, and to her surprise, there was an army behind her, waiting to attack. She didn't stay to make out faces or remember names. Without thinking, which was odd for Hermione by itself, let alone maybe six times in a day, she threw herself toward Simis, on the ground, and the cup, next to him. Her one hand grasped Simis's shirt tightly and the other the rain-slicked handle of the Goblet.

As she was ripped from the clearing individually, she felt herself land, with a thud, beside the group of trees, the Goblet once more on its stump, Simis still clenched beneath her. Without wasting another second, she picked him up into her arms and began sprinting. Who knew how close that barren clearing was; they could catch up any minute, and she had a considerable weight. She ran as fast as she could, knowing it was useless to apparate on Hogwarts land. She ran towards the small dot in the sky she recognized as the top of the owlery, and she knew it would bring her back to the crowd. If she could get there quick enough, nobody else would have to hurt before they got everyone inside. But carrying Simis made her twice as slow, and she was never the fastest to start with. She bolted as fast as she could but despaired of ever reaching the crowd again. She wondered if Simis was even alive, and if he was, if he'd ever wake - and if he wasn't, if she shouldn't just drop him and go herself. But she carried him, knowing that even if there was the slightest chance of him living she wouldn't give up on him.

"There she is! _Crucio_!"

There was a distant yell from behind her, but she could tell they were gaining quickly enough to aim well - the spell just issed her shoulder.

But there! The edge of the tree, she could see the people, see David, see McGonagall, pale and wondering what had happened to her. As she burst through the trees, she heard someone behind her shout, "_Avada_ _Kedavra_!"

Everything moved in slow motion. She tripped over her own foot as she emerged, and the crowd cheered wildly for just one moment at her appearance - Simis was sent flying off to somewhere, and Hermione barely had time to put her hands in front of her face and turn to face the curse before David had jumped in front of her, and the green jet of light hit his chest insted of hers.

"No!" she screamed, "No, David! DAVE! _NO_!"

But she watched as his body slumped, lifeless to the ground, and she couldn't help her own fall - she hit the ground and screamed as they came closer.

"Hermione!" Harry was yelling, trying to break through the paralyzed crowd to getto her. "Hermione!"

"_DAVE! NO! DAVE! NO! NO_!" she shrieked, inncapable of seeing anything but the dead body of her favorite teacher and partner and confidante lying dead before her. David, David, David, no, no, _no_...

Things were happening around her. The crowd had begun to run and try and get away as she brought her face down to David's, screaming for him to get up. Harry's red trail of sparks soared over her head and hit a Death Eater; Ron was trying to show people to safety and McGonagall had taken on the frontal-assault idea.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted, "We need to get you out of here!"

"_DAVE! GET UP, DAVE, NO_!"

"Hermione, he's dead, come on!" Harry shouted, deflecting a spell and aiming another.

"_DAVE! DAVID! DAVID, NO_ -"

"Hermione!" a new voice cried, panicked, as hands grabbed her. Draco.

"_NO_!" She shook him off and grabbed the sides of David's face, shaking him so his lifeless eyes rattled in their sockets. "_DAVE! PLEASE! NO_!"

And then Draco's hands ripped hers from David and placed themselves around her waist, restraining, not comforting. She fought against him as much as she could, she had to get to David, wake him up, get him to look at her, to fight, to _wake up_ -

"Come on!" Harry yelled to Draco, and he grabbed her one arm and Draco her other. They, taller than her and stronger, lifted her and began to carry her away, away from David.

"_NO_!" she screamed, flailing her fists about painfully, smackng them wherever she could and kicking all of them she could reach, causing them to stumble several times. People were running into battle, students and Death Eaters alike, and people were running, screaming like her, but away from the body, away, and still blocking her view, her view, she had to see him, to wake him up-

"Ron!" Harry bellowed, "Come help us!"

And so the red-head's hands grabbed her feet and held thems still.

"_NO! DAVID! LET ME GO, LET ME GO TO HIM, DAVE, DAVID_!"

"Stop!" Harry begged her, but she only had ears to see if David would wake.

And then she saw McGonagall fall after a flash of the green light that had taken David.

"_NO! MCGONAGALL! NO_!"

"What?" Harry yelped, turning to look, but Draco stopped him.

"Not now," he shouted to Harry, "We have to get her safe!"

Hermione lost sight of everything. David was now hidden entirely from her, and McGonagall was lying on top of Simis, who may or may not be dead. She hadn't screamed this hard since Bellatrix had tortured her, and this was much, much worse. She shut her eyes to pretend she had _chosen_ not to see them, that they had gotten to safety and she was the one they should be screaming over, but she was a terrible liar, and couldn't fool herself -

"_LET ME GO! LET ME FIGHT! I'LL KILL THEM! LET ME FIGHT! DAVID! MCGONAGALL_!"

Hermione continued to struggle to kick and hit and scream, never tiring of trying to get away, not even when they got inside and her voice echoed back at her, hurting her ears. She fought back every inch of the way. She had to get to him, had to get to them, if they'd just let her go! Spells flew like wild after them, and people on both sides fell - she watched Lavender go down and her spell, cast before her downfall, take out Yaxley. She watched as walls exploded, she watched as the centaurs came streaming near the lake, and watched as a huge tentacle surfaced through the window - and then she was dragged through hallways with dead bodies and unconscious people and people still fighting to the death. She was dragged past a huge pair of double-doors into a room that was familiar; but she didn't care enough to figure out why. She fought harder than ever in the enclosed space - she had to get outside, had to get to them -

"Ron!" shouted Harry at one point, "Parseltongue! Copy it!"

"Why can't you?"

"He's dead, I can't! Do it!"

Ron made a strange hissing sound, and Hermione realized they were in the girl's lavatory. Nothing happened but that her keening changed in pitch, a higher octave, and she started biting anything she came into cotnact with in desperation. Her mind wouldn't work, it just kept telling her she had to get to them, to get back, to get to Dave and the Headmistress-

"Try again! We have maybe a minute before they catch up!" Harry ordered.

Ron tried again; it was strangely warbled this time, like an ill songbird being swallowed by a cobra. And then the sinks began to separate.

"We'll take her down," said Harry, trying to be calm and dodging a failed punch from Hermione, "down there, and we'll wait until the whole thing blows over."

"That could be days!" Draco argued.

"We haven't got time! We have to keep her safe! Look at what it's done to her!"

Draco's grip tightened. "I'll keep her safe." The promise was never questioned, because it was unquestionable. He meant it. There was never any doubt.

Harry paused as the chamber opened fully. "You know, this small part of me always thought you were lying," he admitted to Draco.

And then a red blast knocked him sideways.

"Get her to safety!" Ron said, shoving the two of them down the hole int ime for her to hear the doors clang against the bathroom walls and see the opening shut over them.

They tumbled down a long pipe that had several openings; it was rough and Hermione didn't like it one bit. She felt Draco's hand leave hers, and it terrified her more than when she'd been fighting against him; but she was overwhelmed by the need to save Dave and McGonagall. As she was spat out of the tubish pipe, she turned and desperately tried to climb back up it - but a hand stopped her.

"Hermione!" Draco begged, "Stop it! Listen to me!"

"_DAVE, NO, MCGONAGALL, NO, NO_!"

"Hermione, you can't help them, they're dead!"

"_NO, THEY CAN'T BE, NO, DAVID, NO, MCGONAGALL, NO, NO_!"

"Hermione, please!" he pleaded, not able to keep the desperation out of his voice. He grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him, keeping both arms pinned to her sides as she struggled to get away. Tear stains covered his cheeks. "They're dead, they're gone, they're never coming back! They'll never teach another lesson, they'll never help you with an assignment, they'll never award house points, they'll never see you again! STOP IT! _STOP IT_!"

Hermione immediately stopped wiggling and looked at him in horror.

He took a deep breath as he saw the disgust and loathing in her eyes for saying such dreadful things. "The man you're disgusted by," he promised softly, "is the man I'm disgusted by, too, and he, too, is dead and gone. I'm a better man, and _you_, Hermione, are the reason. I love you, and 'always' isn't an acceptable word for how long I will. So stay here, stay safe, stay with _me_, and I promise you'll make it to morning."

Hermione was frozen.

_Hermione barely had time to put her hands in front of her face and turn to face the curse before David had jumped in front of her, and the green jet of light hit his chest insted of hers..._

_She saw McGonagall fall after a flash of the green light that had taken David..._

_"They're dead, they're gone, they're never coming back!"..._

_Hermione barely had time to put her hands in front of her face and turn to face the curse before David had jumped in front of her, and the green jet of light hit his chest insted of hers..._

_She saw McGonagall fall after a flash of the green light that had taken David..._

_"They're dead, they're gone, they're never coming back!"..._

Hermione's face burned with the hot, wet tears she'd spilled, and the blood she'd poured, and the rain that had tried to cool it, and the heat-trapping dirt in it all. And yet Draco let her bury her face in his chest and sob. "It's horrible," she wept.

"I know," he whispered, his voice breaking, "I know."

Hermione splashed the cold water in the bucket on her face while Draco worked his magic behind her. She rubbed off the dirt and blood and tear stains, but there was nothing to do about the cut. It was dark magic that hd been on the trees, and that was what had cut her. It was a deep gash, and she knew it, but it would have to heal on its own, and with the dirt inside it it'd probably get infected. Behind her, one scarce rock turned itself into a fully-made, comfortable-looking bed.

Her mind was wracked with guilt; she'd screamed and shouted and her friends might be dead because she refused to go along with them to safety. Her mind was wracked with fear; what if her friends _were_ dead? Her mind was wracked with questions; was Rabastan after revenge, or was he after something - and if he was, was that something Harry, or something else? Her heart, however, was wracked with grief; David was dead, McGonagall was dead, Simis might be, and who knows how many others would be lying lifeless right now, all because she'd been stupid and had taken the fight to them instead of dying right then and there for the greater good. The greater good... everything good was greater than her, and everything great had definitely more goodness.

Draco's fingers traced her wound lightly and he sighed. "Thats nasty," he said. "How did that happen?"

She looked at him. Not a word had been exchanged since she'd stopped crying and they'd greed they need to get her cleaned up and transfigure things into the basics of living, though there was virtually nothing to transfigure where they were - a long hallway, with water on both sides, the floor simple and the walls carved so snakes jumped out of it, and Salazar Slytherin's huge face loomed at them. The bones of the basilisk seemed to have been of magical properties, because it had apparently just faded like a ghost, and disappeared.

She had to tell him everything. She sighed. "A tree attacked me," she said. "Actually, several did, but this one managed to really hurt me."

He didn't ask her to clarify or elaborate. Instead, he asked, "Dark Magic?"

Surprised, she nodded.

He pointed his wand at her forehead and looked her in the eyes. "This will hurt," he warned.

She smiled. "I already hurt."

He grimaced, and then whispered, "_Tenebris Remedium_."

At first, it was like there was Crookshanks, licking her wound; and then her cat's sandpaper tongue turned icy-cold, so cold it was to the point of burning, and then it was white-hot fire that raged throughout the deep gash, and she pitched forward, into his arms, and lt it finish its work in silence.

"Wow," she gasped when it was done, and then pulled back, trying not to let her voice shake. "Is it gone?"

He nodded, and closed his own eyes. "God, I hate it when you hurt."

Her lower lip trembled, but she smiled bravely. "Distract me," she said.

"How?"

She knew she was enroaching on dangerous territory, but she said, "Tell me about Pansy."

His eyes darkened, but he tried to smile, and began.

"Pansy and I were friends from almost first glance. Both of us were taught to hate Muggle-borns, both of us later on realized we didn't." He smiled at her and tucked a lock of now-clear hair behind her ear. "In fifth year, we started dating, and it wasn't exclusive. I ended up getting drunk and sleeping with some bimbo in sixth year Ravenclaw, losing my virginity."

She pursed her lips.

"Well, she didn't like that and got really mad." He sighed. "And so I got mad, and slept with another girl... and another... and another, and so on, and so forth. When we made up, she said I'd never be able to replace her." He looked at Hermione, as if asking permission to continue. She nodded. "I proposed to her last year, on the train coming. She said yes, and we had the wedding all planned..." he shut his eyes tightly, as if repressing unpleasant memories. "That day, when you, Ron and Harry came back and she said to give Harry up, she only said it because she knew there'd be a fight, and she knew Voldemort was pissed at my dad, and would slaughter me without a second thought.

"Well, the fight broke out anyway, and she... she told me g-goodbye." He took a deep breath. "Said that if he was to have me brought to him, I'd die, so she'd take all possible blame... and she left when you and Ron burst through to get down here." Hermione winced, and he petted her cheek. "She snuck out and went to him in the forest, and he... well, he enjoyed it." He shuddered.

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

"What did he do to her?"

Draco's eyes were as lifeless as David's, and it scared her. "He tore every superfluous outward apendage apart piece by piece, he ripped out her heart, he decapitated her, he took the blood from her and drank it like a vampire would. He laughed when she screamed, and so did aunt Bella..." he shut his eyes again, and when he opened them, the emotion was staggering. "I can't talk about this."

"I get it,"she whispered, petting his hair softly. The star throbbed on her abdomen.

"I love you," he said quietly, leaning into her hand as it cupped his cheek.

She grinned. "I know."

"You're not Han Solo, you don't get to say that. You have to say you love me too."

She gave a start. "You know who Han Solo is?"

He shrugged. "Saw Star Wars once or twice or... you know, thirteen different times..." he grinned sheepishly.

Hermione didn't wait for an explanation. She did not wait to hear why he'd watched a Muggle movie series, did not wait to hear what good excuse he had - she flew at him, into his arms even further, buried herself inhis embrace and snogged him passionately, feeling the burst of bliss that erupted on her tongue. Though surprised, he was just as fiery as her. Their lips moved together and were hot against one another - their bodies both were warm and getting extremely used to the way she curved into him. She kitched her leg up on his thigh, and they fell back onto the bed right behind them that Draco had transfigured into existence. It was soft and fluffy and welcoming, and ready to be of use for a normal, settled-down couple who would sleep peacefully.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." There was no doubt in her mind that she was ready.

_Sorry bed,_ she thought. _Settled-down and normal aren't what you've got coming for you._

Hermione woke on top of Draco, nude. Their skin was bare, and electrified; his arms around her waist kept her weight on his as if they were stuck together by glue. The perfection of his body made her ogle for a moment; and then she met his eyes.

"Good morning," he said huskily, his voice deep, a playful growl.

She smirked. "I'll return that sentiment when it is one," she said seriously, she smirk fading. "How can we even be sure it's morning? How do we know it's happy?"

He sighed, and his arms around her waist tightened. "You know," he said, "generally, when I wake up after bedding a girl, I feel guilt and yet that little throb of pleasure."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Generally?"

He smiled. "With you," he continued, "I feel nothing but that throb of pleasure."

She smiled back. "Good morning," she greeted him, and she felt his lips press to hers. Her stomach somersaulted and her heart flip-flopped. She waited to feel something from the star, but then remembered he'd kind of... ripped it off and thrown it aside with the rest of her clothing.

His hand caressed her lower calf, massaged it, and she leaned her head into his broad shoulder. "Draco?"

"Mm?"

"We should realy go up there and see if the fight's over."

He sighed. "And if it's the same state of chaos."

"We fight." She said it with finality. There was nothing that would stop her from fighting this time - because she wasn't going to resist running if she had to. She would avenge those falling, she would avenge those already fallen.

He sighed again. "I suppose we should." All hope left the chamber. "Let's get dressed."

She smirked, but it was dead on her lips. "If we have any left."

He grinned. "You might have problems with that."

Hermione grinned back, and then they both exhaled sadly, and rolled away from each other and off opposite sides of the bed. Hermione bent down to see where her clothes were, and spotted her necklace, laying about four feet away, right next to the shiny little stone she'd picked up in the hole.

She wet to pick up the necklace, no longer caring about the stone, an then she saw it.

The sign of the Deathly Hallows.

She gasped, and, in one fluid motion, swooped it up in her hand to examine the triangle with the circle and line through it that was carved perfectly into the stone, which had a crack running through it, right along the Elder Wand's symbol.

"Hermione?" asked Draco, hearing her gasp.

"Draco, this is what they want."

"What?"

"They want the Resurrection Stone. To... probably to bring him back, in a sense."

Their two pairs of eyes met, and the normal dizzinessfrom each others' gaze was diluted by the facts they both knew now.


	43. Chapter 44

Draco and Hermione stood just outside the door to the girls' bathroom, having narrowly escaped Myrtle's insistent whining about how everyone was wrecking her afterlife. The doors ahd shut behind them, and Draco almost wished he and Hermione were back inside it. Just at his feet, so close he nearly walked into it, was the body of Lavender Brown, her bouncy curls flung uselessly over the wounds in her face, staining them crimson. There were bodies scattered here and there along the ground of the hall, but it was deserted, other than that. His stomach churned when Hermione placed a hand over her mouth and tears welled in her eyes again, but he couldn't comfort her. Not when he was so close to crying himself. Both of them had theirs wands out, and they kept them poised in front of themselves. Hermione's chocolate eyes grew darker as she saw that one of the bodies not stirring couldn't be any older than eleven, and her eyebrows sagged as they do when she's about to cry. Draco squeezed the hand he was holding gently, and felt her squeeze back.

There were walls blown down and the statues were all off their posts. The debris on the ground covered the sights of the bloodless and the injured, and Draco couldn't make out who was alive and who wasn't. Or maybe they were all dead. It seemed only five or six bodies were in the hallway, so maybe someone had picked them up... if the fight was over. If not, it was awfully quiet, and the fighting had to be somewhere else...

"Come on," he whispered, taking a couple steps forward and rounding the corner. She followed him like a shadow, dark, brooding and not always there, though sometimes he wished she could be. He saw that this hallway, too, was littered with children, teens and adults alike, all who'd come to learn or to support Hermione - all who'd come to live.

And then the faintest sound of a million voices sobbing began to float towards them through the air, ringing of the pain and merciless battle that had wrung itself out over the castle.

"It's awful," she said, her voice quavering.

Draco made no response, but continued to pull her along, ready for anything to pop out. But, after a while of following the cries through the lifeless corridors, he lowered his wand a bit. The weeping grew louder by the second, and Draco could just make out a voice he'd learned to hate. Kingsley was trying to call order, and Draco seethed. You weren't supposed to call order to a room full of grieving friends and family. You were supposed to let them grieve. The doors of the Great hall loomed up in his vision, and he listened for a moment, deciding whether or not to go in. And the he heard Mrs. Weasley's voice, heaving tears too great to bear, saying, over and over, "My daughter, not my only daughter, no, not my daughter, no, no..."

Hermione had heard this too, and with a gasp that left him remembering how she'd screamed Harry's name when he'd been pronounced dead by Voldemort, she pushed through the doors.

Heads turned and people began gossipping in whispers immediately. But Hermione had eyes for only one person - the red-head as she lay on the ground, surrounded by her Irish-looking family. She lay on a matt, like all the other wounded in the room, and he knew that they had cleared the halls of the wounded. There were at least two hundred injured people, lying and being tended by a flustered and tear-stained Madame Pomfrey. The tables were gone and debris was piled in corners, and people sat about, crying and comforting. Draco's eyes, like Hermione's, were drawn to the completely still Weaslette on the floor. He couldn't see her chest rise and fall, and Harry, clutching her hand like a life-line next to her, seemed to be so pale he was a ghost, and his glasses were askew once more. Ron, behind him, was standing with his back to the crowd of his family and best friend, staring at his hands as he clasped them, his knuckles white, as if squeezing them would bring her back. But was she dead at all? If she had been, wouldn't they haveleft her in the hallway?

Harry's green eyes rose from his fiancee and spotted them.

"She won't wake up," he said, his voice clear, but not flat, breaking twice and thick with emotion.

Ron turned at Harry's words and saw them, too. And pointed a figner at Draco, a manic look in his eyes. Hermione gently grabbed Draco's arm and stood slightly in front of him.

"You," said Ron.

"Ron -" said Hermione.

"Me," said Draco.

"Is your mark burning?"

He was surprised - the accusing tone of Ron's had somehow turned demanding. He realized he hadn't actually look at his left arm, or focused enough to begin to feel the burning if they'd called a meeting. Curious, he hiked up his sleave, shaking his head.

His head froze, his eyes locked on his now mark-free arm.

"How?" breathed Ron, as Harry stood up and the Weasleys looked petrified. Hermione turned around, and, seeing his arm, immediatly began to disperse her theories.

"Maybe they have some way of weeding out those who aren't loyal," she said, her mouth moving so qickly understanding her was only possible to someone like Draco. "Not loyal to the cause anymore, lose the mark. Maybe it's not permanent becausr he's dead now. Maybe, because it was dark magic, it couldn't be removed easily when he died, but now that they've weeded the disloyal out it's gone."

"Whatever the reason, it'd be bloody useful right now!" he exclaimed, grabbing hold of the cuff he'd pushed up his arm and ripping his sleeve completely off, making sure it was nowhere else. Some looked away as his strong and muscular arm was exposed, others marvelled at his quick burst of useless strength. And then Ginny opened her eyes.

"We are coming," she said, her voice clear and cold, ringing out in superiority to those below her - he looked at her, stock-still, as did the rest of the room as her voice reverberated off the walls. "Prepare yourselves for a second battle, and we want the Mudblood - we know you have it," she said, and her eyes, which had been ooking at the cieling, now looked at Hermione. Draco's blood chilled itself when he saw that her normally brown eyes were the same black as his Uncle Rabastan's.

Hermione had, of course, filled him in on what had happened in the forest. Every detail about his uncles made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and now, seeing Ginny awake and embodied with a spirit that had died along with Bellatrix, he wished she would sleep once more.

And then she screamed.

Draco's hands flew to his ears before he could stop them, as did everyone else's, and she writhed on the floor. "NO! GET OUT! NO! STOP!" she keened, her body twitching in apparent agony - he was in agony watching her like this.

"Ginny!" Harry shouted, falling to his knees once more and grasping both sides of her head. "Fight it! Fight it!"

"OUT!" Ginny shrieked. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD! NO! NO, STOP! NO!"

Before Draco could stop himself, he had pointed his wand at her and bellowed, "_Şüuruna __tərk_!"

Ginny screamed once more, louder, her pitch a double timbre - and then there was another scream as dark smoke billowed out of her eyes and nose, poured from her mouth as if water, and curled in the air, vanishing as Molly's cries of horror rang out instead og Ginny's. The red-head girl had fallen silent, and still. As still as a statue. And for a moment, he feared he had failed, when Harry looked into her eyes and she looked back blankly, no hint of recognition flitting through her pools of brown - a brown strikingly similar to that of autumn leaves.

And then terror crossed her face and she croaked, "Harry."

The entire room sobbed with relief, and Molly and Arthur threw themselves around their daughter, and Harry tried to hold her as close as he could, failing because of the public watching. "Stop, stop!" Ginny said, and they all fell back immediately. Ginny looked at Hermione with a desperate expression. "Get rid of it," she said, panicking. Harry looked at Draco, confused, and his hand slid into Hermione's pocket and back out, his fingers clutched around the semi-smooth stone. He unfurled his fingers and Harry took a moment to look at it, from several feet away - and then gasped.

"No," he said.

"Yes," said Hermione.

"It's what they're after," said Ron, also seeing the mark on it.

Draco nodded. "It is."

"What is it?" asked Molly.

"The Resurrection Stone," said the group of four at once, all together., Draco grasping Hermiones hand with the one that held the object in question, letting it be pressed between their warm palms. The entire room jumped at the name, and some cried out, others screamed, and yet others began running - and, fool he was, he thought it was because they'd mentioned the stone. But then, from behind him, he heard a voice.

"Touching such garbage, Draco. I expected more of you."

Draco spun around, as did Hermione, and their hands fell apart, the stone still clutched in his fist tightly, and he looked into the yes that had controlled Ginny only moments before.

"_Şüuruna __tərk," _said Rabastan, his looks mirrored by his two brothers behind him, and the rest of the Death Eaters behind them. "Your father did have a few tricks of his sleeve. You performed it remarkably well, young boy, you ought to be aong our ranks -"

"I don't need ranks controlled by fear when I have ranks bonded by something much stronger," Draco spat, his chest boiling for two different reasons - for one, they would not hesitate to kill Hermione, and two, he really loathed his uncles.

"Come now, Draco," said Uncle Randy, "You'll be safer here. With much more power."

"I don't need power! I have more than you could ever dream of!" Draco retorted.

Rodo lifted an eyebrow. "You? Power? Well, let's see how much you have when you see -"

And then, Rookwood and Yaxley dragged two people out from amidst the crowd, and the two people were salivating mindlessly, their bodies of no use to the ruin of their brains that were held inside their heads.

"Say hi to Mum and Dad," said Rabastan, smiling evilly.

Draco's mind began to hide itself away in the corner of his mindas he watched his father's grey eyes zip about the room like a fly, but seeing nothing, and he muttered words a toddler might. His mother sat there, on the ground, staring at her hands as if she was trying to figure out how they worked and was failing. The whole scene became blurry, and there were no tears - he felt an insisible barrier fall between him and the world, and he secluded the part of his mind that concealed his hurt, so he could deal with it alone. And them, abruptly, the veil was lifted when Hermione's shoulder bumped his.

"_Şüuruna __tərk!" _Hermione yelled, and Draco couln't think before he cast_ Protego,_ and the spell deflected invisislby by the silver barrier that had sprouted from his wand.

"What are you doing?" roared Harry furiously.

"Those are my parents, do you think I'm going to let her use one of the rare spells she's never used before and maybe accidentally cause them the loss of the rest of the small shred of sanity left?" he shouted back.

"That's what is does?"

Rabasta snorted and glared at Hermione, whose innocent question was deemed unworthy by her 'superior'. "Idiotic Mudblood. _Şüuruna __tərk_ translates into English as 'leave the mind' from Azerbaijani."

"So, it -"

"Does what a Dementor's kiss does, but to your mind, not soul," confirmed Rodolphus, nodding and finishing her sentence.

"And you used it on Ginny!" Harry accused him forcefully.

"Yes, and in case you didn't notice, it stopped _him_ possessing her!" Draco yelled back, pointing to Rabastan.

"Aw, don't yell," crooned Randilphias. "You'll scare Mummy and Daddy."

"How did you get them?" Draco hurled at his Uncles - they and the rest of the crowd behind them chuckled.

"Easy, it was. One of them is sitting in a cell in Azkaban, the other visiting him and talking about how you love the trash and that theirs views should change - took over the Dementor's capacity system, and let it kiss 'em." Rabastan smiled with wicked delight, his eyes gleaming naughtily, but in a much more menacing way.

"She's not trash!" Draco defended, pushing her behind him slightly.

Ravastan's grin turned into a malicious glare, shooting daggers at them. Draco hadn't noticed that the room had cleared, but for Harry, Ginny, Luna, Neville, Hannah, Ron, Hermione and himself. "She's worse," He spat at Hermione.

Draco's tongue had been itching to spill the word on its tip for ages, it seemed, and he flicked his wrist, taking a deep breathing before uttering the words.

_"__Iqtidarında_ _sehr_!"

And Rabastan, realizing what the spell was, leapt out of the way, and Draco's curse reflected off the shield charm on a Death Eater who'd had time to prepare for it.

"Out of the way!" Rabastan screamed, jumping to his feet once more. The entire room froze, both the good side and bad.

"It was you," Draco hissed. "You who fucked up the Goblet and made it create the monsters, you who sent the lethifolds. You impersonated a false person and entered the contest, bewitching it to choose you and Hermione. How did you get her image?"

Rsbastan snarled, "That teacher who draws had a sketch on his desk of her," he answered, his wand out, his body poised, ready for the fight Draco's muscled yearned for.

"David," Hermione breathed.

"And when we have the stone in your hand," he continued, "We will bring back our Lord and do the deeds you spoiled."

Draco's stomach was tying itself in knots as he tried not to focus on his parents.

"It was you I saw out the window," Ginny called, her voice livid. "The first week back, and after New Year's -"

"Yes, stupid Blood Traitor, me!" shouted Rabastan. "Now give me the stone or die!"

"Give it to him!" shouted Ron suddenly.

"Ron, what?" Hermione squealed disbelievingly.

"Do it!" the gangly boy shouted. "Do you want them to kill her?"

Draco closed his eyes, and, listening as Herione's voice screamed at him not to do it, he let the rock slide out of his grasp, and felt it zip into Rabastan's hand.

Nothing happened.

All was silent.

Nothing happened.

Again.

And again.

And again.

"Why isn't it working?" shrieked Rabastan, much as Voldemort had shrieked with fury.

"His soul," muttered Hermione, one of her metaphorical lightbulbs clicking on.

"What?"

"His soul!" Harry repeated her, and laughed. "He'd ripped it so many times, rendered it so unstable, it can't come back!"

The stone clattered to the ground, and Rabastan's face was apoplectic - he raised his wand, directly at Draco's face. Draco mirrored his movement.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

"_Sülh T__apmaq_!"

Their spells collided for one second, but Draco had the stronger will, the desire, the need to live. And so his beam of bright yellow light cascaded down the line of the green one, and swallowed Rabastan's wand whole before he crumpled.


	44. Chapter 45

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

"The ring that you gave Pansy..."

"Yes?"

"You really loved her?"

"I still do."

Hermione pursed her lips, and the hurt flashed in her eyes. "You can't love two people."

"Do you love your parents?"

"Of course." She was surprised by the question.

"Then you love two people."

She struggled to find a problem with this, and couldn't. Still uneasy, she looked blankly at the wall in front of them, and the seat that was empty, as they were sitting on the same one, holding hands. The Head Prefect compartment of the train was private and closed off, and Draco and Hermione both knew what people must think they were getting up to. But in all honesty, they'd simply been talking over the entire year at school as the clickety-clack of the train wheels on the rails created a soothing background noise. The compartment was made for four people, like the others, but the doors had no windows, and the interior was slightly better-looking.

"I love you too, you know," Draco told her softly, as if commenting on the color of her shirt - which happened to be green, which suited her not quite so much as red.

He expected no answer - while he had been prepared to say he loved her since before their second kiss, she was a lot more skeptic. But, to his surprise, she said immediately and with no hesitation, "And I love you."

"You do?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Is it just me, or is this star around my neck beating to your heartbeat?"

He smiled at her and squeezed her hand gently. "Hermione?" he asked after a minute, incapable to keeping the question to himself.

"Yes?"

"Do you still love Ron?"

She sighed. "Like a brother." She paused. "But... I can't throw away eight years' worth of being best friends and being by the other's side. We're a family, Drake, Harry, Ron and I. Maybe not by blood, but we're a family. And families love each other, no matter how annoying their fights get."

He nodded, thankful that she was being so honest with him.

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

"What do you want to do with your life?"

He thought about it. "I have no clue."

There was a moment of silence.

"What do _you_ want to do?"

"A number of thigns," she said. "Be a Healer, an Auror, an Inventor... I'd like to revolutionize the Department of Rights and Welfare of Non-Wizarding Magical Creatures at the Ministry."

"There is no Department like that. There's just Control of Magical Creatures."

She smiled faintly. "I know."

He smiled back to, just the corners of his mouth twitching. "What would you invent?"

"Spells, abilities with mirrors..."

"Mirrors?"

"Oh, yes," she said seriously. "I think that you can communicate through mirrors - Sirius's mirror he gave Harry proved that - and you should be able to travel with the big ones, go through one and step out another. They're amazing."

"They're only amazing becuse you see yourself in them," he said, jumping at the chance. She blushed. She squeezed his hand gently, her chest swelling with happiness. She snuggled closer to him, their shoulders together, and she laid her head on his comfortably, enjoying the way her head fit into the side of his neck.

"Draco?" she asked suddenly.

"Yes?"

"When will we see each other?"

There was a pause. "Well... I'm living with Aunt Andromeda and Teddy now, so I figure we'll see each other often."

"You'll write to me?"

"Of course." He seemed surprised she would question that.

"I'll miss you."

Draco sighed heavily and shifted himself so his back was against the wall and his legs were under her, and her head was lying on his chest while she sat on his lap comfortably. He locked his hands above her lower stomach, around her waist. "Some day, you won't have to miss me, because some day, I'm going to marry you, and we'll live in Malfoy Manor together and raise children, and... I'll even re-do that particular room," he said, and she giggled, but then exhlaed at the weight of his statement. Afraid she had rejected him somewhat, he waited anxiously for a reply.

"You'll have to hang the paintings in the room," she said, her voice distinctly harder than before, and she remembered the day David's will had been read.

_"I need Miss Granger, Professor." __Kingsley spoke respectfully, but noncommitally. Hermione looked to Slguhorn, hoping he'd say no - she didn't want to go anywhere and she didn't want to leave Draco._

_"Of course," said Slughorn, nodding to her ad going back to explaining how to measure correctly - Hermione had enjoyed the lesson thoroughly, picking out every mistake the teacher's book had made and elaving him flustered. She realized now she shouldn't have - it had only made him more willing to be shot of her. But she kissed Draco quickly on the cheek and rose to leave, her arms beginning to encircle he books._

_"Leave them here," said Kingsley. "This won't take long."_

_Hermione obediently dropped her arms and manuevered out of the seats, between tables and people__ that looked curious, but didn't care enough to ask. Hermione was curious, too, and that is what made her follow Kingsley out into the hall. When they'd reached a certain point away from any listening doors or rooms, Kingsley pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket, and Hermione recognized the writing on it immediately. David's._

_"Do you know what this is?"_

_"No."_

_"It's Professor Yasmen's will."_

_Hermione's heart thudded loudly against her ribcage. "Why did you call me out here?"_

_"Because he bequeathed everything to you."_

_Hermione's eyes were ready to pop out of her skull, and a lump swelled in her throat. "Everything?" she croaked, disbelievingly._

_"Everything," said Kingsley, nodding and handing her the parchment._

"He left you quie a few things, did he not?" Draco asked noncommitally.

"Everything," said Hermione quietly, snuggling deeper into his embrace. "Every last thing, from his largest painting to the smallest quill." Her smile widened in appreciation of her deceased friend, teacher, partner and confidante. "And Mcgonagall left us both half of everything she had, minus her wand, which she gave to Harry, do you remember?"

"How could I not?" he asked her, his tone close to the same laughter hers was, and he remembered.

_"Draco followed the Minister to Hermione, who was clutching a piece of parchment and __smiling like the sun. Glad to see her so happy, but noticingt the revered silence in her eyes, he did not grab her hand, as was usual upon their meetings, and he did not kiss her, usual when they'd greet each other._

_"You were both close to McGonagall?" he asked them._

_Hermione looked awkward. "We were," she said, "Me closer than Drake - I mean Draco, and Harry closer than me."_

_Kigsley nodded. "Reasoable, seeing as how she left him her wand."_

_"What?" asked Draco, shocked. Leaving a wand to somebody in a will was a serious form of showing your gladness of their existence and role in your life._ _He supposed everyone was leaving their wands to Harry Potter in their wills these days, but not many actually reached him, as the Ministry knew enough to keep that many wands locked away from where small children might grab them in the future._

_Kingsley nodded. "And she left the two of you half of everything else she owned."_

_"Wow," Hermione said, as Draco just stared. "I wonder if Lavender left me anything?"_

"She didn't, though," remarked Draco. "If she had, they would've told you before Funeral Day."

Hermione sighed, and Draco worried that he'd crossed a line, but in reality, she was remembering the ceremony.

_"For this day, when we celebrate the lives of those who lived, we also recognize the end of the Second Wizarding War. The three people who have been marked down in history books across the world are here to speak today, and to graduate in a later ceremony, and have prepared individual speeches."_

_Kingsley stood to one side of the stage, and allowed Harry to rise from beside her to talk. The crowd roared as Harry rose, cheering on the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the reason it was over at last. He walked to the stage, and Hermione, as practiced, flicked her wand and amplified his voice. The crowd fell silent.  
_

_"Tonight," he started, shaky, and nervous, watching as the Weasleys and Ginny and her parents and Hagrid all started crying, "we mourn David Yasmen, Minerva Mcgonagall, Lavender Brown, and almost one hundred others who have died. We grieve for Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, who were kissed by Dementors for changing their biggoted views to accepting ones when they found their son was dating my sister over there." The crowd reacted instantaneously, some hissing, some booing, others cheering, and stilothers crying harder. "Not by parentage, but she's my sister, there's no doubt." He smiled back at her, still shaky, and she grasped Ron's hand fretfully, a worry line creased into her forehead. Draco, in the very back, was getting some supportive and some very dirty looks, but his eyes were on the speaker and occassionally the sister of which he spoke._ "_Tonight," he said, "Me, my sister and my brother and soon-to-be brother-in-law -" he nodded to Ginny with a small smile "- are graduating, as Kingsley - I mean the Minister - pointed out.__ We're leaving Hogwarts, our home for six years and whom she fought to protect last year. We're leaving the best Headmaster ever's grave, we're leaving the best Headmistress ever's grave, and we're leaving behind all the wonderful teachers, classes and students. But we'll never be able to leave everything. A small part of Hogwarts will always remain with us. Hogwarts taught us who we are and taught us how to control ourselves... somewhat, I still have trouble with that." Nobody laughed. "Oh, well. The point is, I love this school and it's people and it's crazy ghosts and it's insane pets and the petty fights people get in over stupid and untrue gossip ad rumors. I never thought I'd miss being called a loon so much."_

_"We can help you there, mate," Ron called to him, and Harry broke into a grin when the crowd laughed._

_"You see?" he demanded of the crowd, which immediately sobered, all shakiness gone now. "You can laugh! Don't you think if they were still here, they'd want you to laugh? George," he said, adressing the now-not-a-twin in the front row, still crying, "Fred wishes you'd stop being so sad, I'm positive. I'm also fairly positive he'd be waving your own ear in your face if you could see him." The crowd laughed again._

_Harry raised his arms as if hugging the world. "Do you not see this Great Hall? Do you not feel the deceased walking around you? And no, I don't mean the ghosts," he said. "They're dead, but they're not gone. Not if we love them. They'll never be gone - not as lng as those who remain are loyal to them."_

"He really sold it, didn't he?" Draco asked her. Hermione smiled.

"Yes," she responded, and then sighed. "I suppose you're not going to the wedding?"

Draco sighed too. "I hve so many affairs to set in order... my parents led really screwed-up lives for a while." He scrunched up his nose. "Then again, so did I." He relaxed his face. "It was nice to see their bare left arms before they were burried, though."

Hermione's fingers traced his left arm fondly and he got goosebumps from her touch.

"Your parents were ready to accept me," she said.

Draco sighed. "I know. She was setting me up for a wife when I sent her the letter, and I never got a response... I realize now she was prbably trying to convince my dad the whole time, and he was finally caving in when... when..." He couldn't finish.

"Shh, sweetheart," said Hermione, twisted so she lay with her back to the wall and her face looking at his slightly sideways. Her warm chocolate eyes brought a sort of comfort that really agitated him, for some reason, but her touched soothed that, calmed him down, and he found he couldn't be upset now, not with her acting like this.

"When do you think your parents will forgive me?" he asked smoothly, arching one eyebrow,trying to forget the topic of conversation.

Hermione frowned. Her parents had been very angry with Draco, because it was his uncle that had attacked her, his aunt who had tortured her, his parents who had tried to turn her in when she was running and because of him, she'd been subject to lethifold attacks. No matter how hard she tried, they refused to speak to him or aknowledge his presence whenever he was near her, talking to her. They wouldn't accept his apologies, they wouldn't allow her even to mention his name or that he was a good person around them. Hermione dispaired of ever getting them to come around. She'd begun sneaking out to see him at night, becuase her parents' refusal to accept him whenever she mentioned she had plans or a date almost physically hurt her, and made her very depressed and sad. "They will... eventually," she said. "When we're married, most likely."

"Hey Hermione?"

"What?"

"Life sucks."

She grinned at his playful tone. "It brought us together," she reminded him.

He grinned back. "Okay. Life _usually_ sucks."

Hermione kissed him gently, knowing a playful kiss would lead to something anyone could barge in on and it would be severely embarassing. His lips sent the electric sparks running through her veins and attacking her limbs, making them oulled him tighter, closer, his body heat and hers separated by two thin layers of clothing. Her heart stuttered, and then beat six times faster, and the star began throbbing an implusive beat against both of their ribs. Pulling back when his hands began sliding down her waist, she smiled mischievously, and then her smile froze as she remembered something.

_"No, Hermione. You were the help. Without you, Harry and Ron wouldn't have lasted a day looking for Horcruxes. Without you, Draco would have -"_

"Drake?"

"Yes, 'Mione?"

"If I hadn't come along, what would have happened to you?"

"What do you mean?" his eyebrows pulled together adorably, as they did when he was confused.

"David said, on that day, that without me, you would have..."

"Would have what?"

"He never finished his sentence."

"Ah." Draco thought for a moment. "Probably starved to death."

"_Draco_!"

"What?" he said, eyes wide at her furious outburst.

"Why on earth would you starve yourself?"

"Well, Pansy was dead, why bother eating?" he shot back, livid within one second. "I didn't love you yet, Hermione, I'd rather be dead with Pansy than alive with those I didn't love."

"Then why didn't you just use the Killing Curse?"

"Becuase subconsciously, I valued life more than I realized, and I also knew, somewhere deep in my mind, burried under grief and loss, that Pansy wanted me to keep living!"

Hermione blanched. "It was all for Pansy?"

He groaned, his arms elaving her waist and his fingers running through his hair, stressed. "Yes, it was for Pansy," he said. "I didn't love you. Yet. Hermione, _yet_! You can't possibly think anyone could begin to rival you?"

Draco could tell Hermione was already calming. "Sorry," she said meekly, leaning into him once more. "I love you."

"I love you too."


	45. Epilogue 18 Years Later

_**18 YEARS LATER**_

"I wanna go to Hogwarts!" They heard a familiar voice cutting through the mist of King's Cross Station, and they all smiled, Minerva and David somewhat nervously. Hermione and Draco both smiled, and they squeezed the hand of whichever twin they were leading. Hermione felt David squeeze back, and she watched as Minerva let go of her trolley with one arm and cling to Draco with it. The mist in front of them was thin; they could make out shapes, gray, blotted objects, but they couldn't see individuals. The cloud seemed to vanish as they waltzed toward the voice of Lily Potter, who was pouting ferociously at her mother, who was attempting to keep a straight face as Lily jutted out her lip to far and had to slurp it back in. But Draco laughed, and Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hannah, James, Albus and Priscilla looked up at them, somewhat relieved expressions mingling with the one of greeting that was present. Lily, on the other hand, seemed determined to fixate her mother's attention on her, and she stomped her nine-year-old foot. "I wanna go to Hogwarts!" she said loudly, her voice rising in pitch to her tantrum mode.

"Shh, sweetiepie," said Ginny, glancing around the mist to see if anyone had heard. "We're not on the platform yet. _Then_ you can yell at us."

Priscilla, however, wasted no time in bolting to Minerva and giving her a huge hug, tearing her from her father's grasp. "Minnie!" she crowed.

"Scilly!" Minerva gasped at the hug, but returned it enthusiastically.

Albus grinned at David nervously, and David returned the girn - but with a small push from Hermione, he, too, went to embrace his best friend. "Hey, Al," he said, hugging him quickly, and Albus held the hug longer, obviously frightened of something.

"Hey, Dave," he said in return, smiling.

"Alright, everyone, we've got seven minutes," Hannah announced, plucking Priscilla off of Minerva and giving her an encouraging shove toward the pillar. "You first, honey."

Priscilla's fingers curled tightly around her trolley's handle, so tightly her knuckles were white. And then she took a deep breath, and, almost as if jets were attatched to her feet, she propelled herself into the barrier, her blonde braids flying out behind her. And then she disappeared beyond it, and Hannah quickly followed suit, and Ron then followed his wife.

"Go on," said Harry to James, and the thirteen-year-old, already 'experienced' in such matters, carelessly threw himself into the barrier, and hit it somewhat sideways when trying to pull off a one-eighty-degree turn - he still went through, but Harry rolled his eyes and darted after him.

"Come on, sweetie," Ginny said to Lily, and, gently pushing Albus in front of her, continued with, "You first, dear."

Albus acted much the same way Priscilla had, and launched himself at the brick wall with a little too much force - she could imagine the pile-up on the other side, and repressed a chuckle. Ginny, seeming to sense the same thing, grabbed Lily's hand and tugged her past the wall, theirs shapes soon vanishing themselves.

Draco put hs hand on his son's back. "Ready?" he asked him, his voice soft amongst the constant buzz of chatter that littered the air around them.

"Ready," David replied, and the two carefully manuevered their way between the two platforms; the magical one, and the Muggle one.

Hermione looked down at Minerva, and saw that her jaw was set, framed with her long, platinum hair, and her steely eyes were determined. "Together," she said, and Minerva nodded - and they raced towards the barrier, Minerva's trolley wheels squeaking, and felt the familiar little whooshing sensation in the pits of their stomachs as they entered paltform nine and three-quarters.

There were families hugging and kissing goodbyes and the buzz of conversation was louder here, but at least there was no mist. The scarlet train looked as ready as ever to hold the stuents it would bring, and it glinted with the station lights, _Hogwarts_ _Express_ written on the front in gold letters. Hermione felt Minerva tense up, and looked down at her once more, ignoring how Priscilla and Hannah were burried underneath Albus's trolley, and how people laughed when Ron failed to use a spell that would sort them out, though she yearned to show him how to properly do it.

Draco was leading David over to them, and Hermione saw the fear etched in her son's face mirrored in her daughter's. As the two twins, the daughter having Draco's pointed chin and piercing glance, the son having Hermione's brown, somewhat frizzy locks and melting chocolate gaze, grabbed each other's hands tightly, David looked up at her.

"Momma?" he said quietly. Hermione knew he was scared witless right then. He never called her 'Momma' in public places anymore; he claimed it was embarassing, now that he was going to Hogwarts. But his lower lips trembled, and he said, "I'm scared."

"Me too," agreed Minerva, barely managing to get the words out past the squeak in her voice.

Hermione said sternly, "Minerva Narcissa and David Lucius."

"There is nothing to be scared of," Draco continued.

"Hogwarts is..." she gestured with one hand, failing to convey the message. "Huge. But amazing, and welcoming, and generally a fun place."

Draco nodded. "You have every right to be scared," he said, "But listen closely." Minnie and Dave leaned closer to catch their father's words. "You will make friends. You have friends already, even, and you may make some more on just the way there. Any house is a good house, remember that. And every person - even if you think you hate them - can turn out to be the best person in your life later on." He looked pointedly at Hermione.

Both of them seemed little reassured. "But what if we get put in different houses?" Minnie insisted.

Hermione smiled a warm smile. "Darling, just ask the Sorting Hat for the house they put David in."

"He'll listen?" she seemed astonished.

"He listened to Harry," she replied, and Draco nodded once more, and then swept David up in a huge hug as the train's whistles blew for everyone to get on board.

"Be a good boy, write often," he demanded, letting his son run off to board with Albus after Hermione ordered the same thing and pecked him on the cheek. He then proceeded to lift Minerva up around the waist and spin her around, causing her to squeal with embarassment as people pointed and smiled gaily. "You'd better be getting good grades," he warned her. "You didn't get your mother's brains for nothing."

He then placed Minerva back on her feet, and Hermione clutched her daughter to her chest, trying not to let the tears well up in her eyes. "Bye-bye, baby girl," she whispered, petting her daughter's hair and feeling Minnie's face press against her neck as she hugged her even tighter.

When Hermione let her go, she scurried to get on board the train, which had blown its whistle again. Hermione and Draco watched as she climbed up the steps, and a moment later, she appeared through the window in the compartment with Scilly, Jamie, Al and Dave, and she waved wildly, prompting the others to do so as the train began to chug and move away. Harry and Ginny blew kisses, and Ron and Hannah hugged each other and shouted for Priscilla to write to them every week; Hermione and Draco, however, ran along side it until it got going to such a speed they stopped and watched it fade away, people calling goodbyes and names, the station filling with noises and rackets Hermione distantly heard. She felt Draco grab her hand as he had all those years ago, and still the star against her chest fluttered as he touched her.

"They'll be okay," Hermione told him.

"I know."


End file.
